Present* 


Date  ret 


No. 


THE  LIBRARY 

OF 

THE  UNIVERSITY 
OF  CALIFORNIA 

LOS  ANGELES 


GIFT  OF 

The  California  State 
Library 


of  all 
of  the 
•ssion. 
brary, 

-ore  jjiunirmn,  lor  tnc  benefit  of  the  Library, 
three  times  the  value  thereof;  and  before  the  Controller  shah  issue  his 
warrant  in  favor  o7"  any  member  or  officer  of  the  Legislature,  or  of  this 
Shu  r.  fur  his  per  diem,  allowance,  or  salary,  he  shall  be  satisfied  that 
such  member  or  officer  has  returned  all  books  taken  out  of  the  Library  by 
him,  ami  bus  si'tilrd  all  accounts  for  injuring  such  books  or  otherwise. 

SEC.  15.  Books  may  be  taken  from  the  Library  by  the  members  of  the 
Legislature  and  its  officers  during  the  session  of  the  same,  and  at  any 
time  by  the  (ioveruor  and  the  officers  of  the  Executive  Department  of/ 

u-  who  are  required  to  keep  their  offices  at  the  scat  of  government, 
the  Justices  of  the  Supreme  Court,  the  Attorney-General  and  the  Trustees 
of  the  Library. 


NEIGHBOR  JACKWOOD. 


BY 


J.   T.   TROWBRIDGE. 


•  A  CERTAIN    WOMAH  WENT  DOWN  FROM  JERl'S.YLEM  TO  JERICHO, 
AND  FELL  AMONG  THIEVES." 


BOSTON: 

J.    E.    TILTON    AND    COMPANY. 
1871. 


Entered  according  to  Act  of  Congress,  in  the  year  1856,  by 

J.   T.   TROWBR1DGE, 
In  the  Clerk's  Office  of  the  District  Court  of  the  District  of  Massachusetts 


PS 


CONTENTS. 


I. 

HIE  MOUTH    OF   WILD   EIVBB, T 

II. 
THE   STRANGER   AND    TUB  STORM 19 

III. 
TIIE    FARM-HOUSE 23 

IV. 

THE  SABBATH   MORNING 33 

V. 

I1ECTOB,        42 

VI. 

URANDMOTHER   RIQQLESTY,        51 

VII. 

THE  DUNBURYS,       .     .    .     .     I 72 

VIII. 

DOWN    THE   MOUNTAIN,        86 

IX. 

HECTOR    AND   CHARLOTTE, 96 


IV  CONTENTS. 

X. 


MBS.    BIGGLESTY'8   ADVENTURE, 


DANOKBOUS  SYMPTOMS,    

XII. 


TOE    WEDDING, 

XIII. 


TOE   VISIT  AND  T1IE   EXCURSION, 


111 


XI. 

,   .122 


127 


137 


XIV. 

THE   nUNTEBS, 146 

XV. 
TOE   LIFTING   OF   T1IE  VEIL 153 

XVI. 
FIGHTING    FIRE, 158 

XVII. 

THE   MORNING    AFTER, 1C3 

XVIII. 

PARTINGS, 1G8 

XIX. 

THE   DOVE   AND   THE   SERPENT, 174 

XX. 

"TWO   NEGATIVES    DESTROY    EACH    OTHER,"   .     .' 185 

XXI. 

BIM'S    DISCOVERIES, 193 

XXII. 

TWO   SKELETONS   IN   ONE   IIOUSE,  201 


CONTENTS.  V 

XXIII. 

PROSPECTS 212 

XXIV. 

THE   JUDGMENT, 221 

XXV. 

TOWARDS    MIDNIGHT, 227 

XXVI. 

MOTHER   AND   SON, 235 

XXVII. 

THF   FOREST   ROAD, 239 

XXVIII. 

THE  FACE  AT  THE  WINDOW 245 

XXIX. 

THE   GREENWICH    FAMILY, 251 

XXX. 

THE   UNWELCOME    GUEST, 257 

XXXI. 

BROTHER   AND   SISTER, 2G4 

XXXII. 

FLIGHT 270 

XXXIII. 

HOUSELESS, ' 279 

XXXIV. 

7HE   NI6HT,        290 

XXXV. 

IIECTOB'S  JOURNEY, * 295 

1* 


VI  CONTENTS. 


XXXVI. 


IHK  INUNDATION, 


310 


XXXVII. 

RUMORS 319 

XXXVIII. 

MR.  RUKELY'S  GREAT  SERMON 326 

XXXIX. 

HOW   DICKSON   TOOK   LEAVE, 337 

XL. 
MB.  CHUMLETT'S  SPECULATIONS 343 

XLI. 

CONFESSIONS 352 

XLII. 

THE  WILDERNESS, 377 

XLIII. 

THE   LAW   TAKES   ITS   COURSE, 391 

XLIV. 

RETRIBUTIOM '. 398 

XLV. 

CLOSING   SCENES, 40£ 


NEIGHBOR  JACKWOOD. 


I. 

THE    MOUTH   OF   WILD    RIVER. 

IN  the  kitchen  door  of  an  old,  weather-worn  farm-house  stood 
Mr.  Abimelech  Jackwood,  filling  his  pipe  for  an  after-dinner 
smoke,  and  looking  up  at  the  sky  with  an  air  of  contemplative 
wisdom. 

"  Is  it  go'n'  to  rain,  think  ?  "  asked  Abimelech  the  younger,  — 
commonly  called  Bim,  —  holding  out  his  hand  to  see  if  he  could 
satch  a  sprinkle.  "  Say,  father Confound  your  pictur' !  " 

The  anathema  was  addressed,  not  to  the  parent  Jackwood,  by 
any  means  but  to  the  dog  Rover,  who,  seeing  the  boy's  hand 
extended  in  a  manner  which  appeared  provocative  of  sport,  leaped 
up  from  the  door-stone,  where  he  had  been  lying,  with  his  chin  on 
his  paws,  snapping  at  the  flies,  and  pounced  upon  the  shoulder  of 
the  younger  Abimelech. 

Mr.  Jackwood  preserved  a  circumspect  silence,  while  his  saga- 
cious eye  seemed  to  explore  every  square  yard  of  sky  visible 
between  the  two  ranges  of  the  Green  Mountains  that  bounded 
the  valley. 

"  I  never  knowed  the  sign  to  fail,"  he  observed,  after  mature 
deliberation,  crowding  the  tobacco  into  his  pipe-bowl  with  his 
thumb,  "  that  when  you  see  a  light  mist,  like  the  smoke  of  a 
thimblv.  movin'  acrost  the  face  of  the  Eagle  Rocks,  'arly  in 


8  THE   MOUTH    OF   WILD   RIVER. 


mornin',  —  like  what  there  was  this  mornin',  —  there  '11  be  rain 
within  four-'n-twenty  hours.  Them  'ere  clouds  is  jest  what  I 
expected ;  but  mebby  they  '11  hold  off  all  the'arternoon.  I  don't 
see  no  crows  on  the  dead  ellum  yit." 

"  I  wish  you  'd  go  a-fishin',"  said  Abimelech.  "  It 's  Sat'day, 
and  we  shan't  do  much  work  if  we  stay  to  hum." 

"  I  ben  thinkin'  a  little  about  tryin'  a  hand  at  the  fish,  myself," 
responded  Mr.  Jackwood,  lighting  his  pipe  at  the  kitchen  stove. 
"  But  I  guess,  Bim'lech,"  —  puff,  puff,  —  "  we  '11  finish  hoein'  that 
little  patch  o'  'taters  fust,"  —  puff,  puff,  puff,  —  "  then  see  how 
the  weather  looks.  How  're  ye  on  't  for  hooks  an'  lines  ?  " 

Abimelech  made  haste  to  find  the  fishing-tackle,  and  submit  it 
to  his  father's  inspection. 

"  How  spry  you  be,  Bim !  "  cried  his  sister  Phoebe,  —  a  bright- 
eyed,  rosy-cheeked  girl  of  sixteen,  —  over  the  dinner-dishes.  "  If 
you  'd  been  asked  to  bring  a  pail  of  water,  't  would  have  taken 
you  twice  as  long  to  start." 

"  Tell  her  ypu  don't  go  a-fishin'  every  day,"  said  Mr.  Jackwood, 
good-naturedly.  "  Where  's  your  sinkers,  boy  ?  " 

Bim  entered  into  a  long  and  complicate  history  of  the  manner 
in  which,  by  various  mischances,  the  sinkers  had  become  lost  or 
destroyed. 

"  I  can  tell  a  straighter  story  than  that,"  laughed  Phoebe",  flirt- 
ing the  table-cloth  at  the  chickens.  "  He  took  the  sinkers,  and 
all  the  other  lead  he  could  find,  to  run  a  cannon  to  shoot  Inde- 
pendence with.  The  top  of  the  pewter  tea-pot  went  the  same 
way." 

Bim  looked  troubled  under  his  father's  reproof. 

"  I  don't  care,  for  all  that,  though,"  he  whispered,  winking  at 
his  sister,  "  if  he  '11  only  le'  me  go  a-fishin' !  " 

"  I  don't  know  what  we  shall  do  for  sinkers,"  —  and  Mr.  Jack- 
wood  fumbled  in  the  nail-box.  "  There  an't  a  bit  o'  lead  in  the 
house,  't  I  know  on." 

"  There  is  that  'ere  Ticonderoga  bullet,"  suggested  Abimelech, 
meekly. 

"Yes;  and  it's  lucky  you  didn't  git  holt  o'  that,  when  you 


THE   MOUTII   OF   WILD    RIVER. 


run  your  pesky  cannon  !  But  I  kinder  hate  to  use  that.  It 's  a 
relic  I  Ve  ben  lottin'  on  handin'  down  to  futur1  generations." 

Notwithstanding  the  patriotic  desire,  Mr.  Jackwood,  retiring 
to  the  bed-room,  opened  the,  till  of  his  chest,  and  produced  tho 
famous  bullet. 

"  I  expect  that  'ere  ball  killed  a  man,  Bim'lech,"  he  remarked, 
impressively,  balancing  the  relic  on  the  palm  of  his  hand.  "  Your 
Uncle  Dani'l  picked  it  out  of  a  skull,  to  Ticonderoga.  The  heft 
on  't  can't  be  much  short  of  a  ounce ;  an'  what  a  story  it  could 
tell,  childern,  if  it  could  only  talk  !  " 

Mrs.  Jackwood  earnestly  counselled  her  husband  against  sacri- 
ficing so  precious  a  memento  of  Revolutionary  times.  But,  having 
duly  weighed  it  in  his  hand,  and  found  it  lighter  than  the  present 
necessity,  he  submitted  it  to  the  hammer,  pounded  it  out  flat  on 
the  door-stone,  and  proceeded  to  the  manufacture  of  sinkers. 

Abimelech's  industry  that  afternoon  excited  the  surprise  and 
admiration  of  all  who  witnessed  it.  He  hoed  potatoes  —  to  uso 
his  father's  expression  —  "  like  a  major."  The  anticipation  of 
piscatory  sport  inspired  him  ;  the  stint  was  speedily  accom- 
plished ;  and  just  as  the  noisy  old  kitchen  clock  was  striking 
three,  father  and  son  might  have  been  seen  passing  through  tho 
door-yard  gate,  with  their  fish-poles  on  their  shoulders. 

Huntersford  Creek,  a  broad,  clear-running  stream,  swept  through 
the  valley  within  a  stone's  throw  of  Mr.  Jackwood's  house ;  and 
far  to  the  north  the  fringing  willows  on  its  banks,  and  graceful 
elm-trees  stationed  here  and  there,  marked  its  winding  course. 
One  mile  below,  Wild  lliver,  dashing  down  from  the  mountains 
like  a  savage  bridegroom,  hastened  to  the  embrace  of  the  more 
gentle  stream.  But  the  coy  creek  eluded  the  approach  of  her 
impetuous  wooer,  in  a  hundred  coquettish  curves,  —  now  advanc- 
ing softly  to  meet  him,  or  moving  on  serenely  by  his  side,  sooth- 
ing and  taming  him  with  song ;  then,  when  almost  within  his 
reach,  turning  suddenly  aside,  and  leading  him  a  long  and  tortuous 
chase  through  the  green  meadows ;  until,  driven  to  the  verge  of 
the  interval,  beneath  the  brow  of  a  mountain  that  stood  like  a 
solemn  priest,  blessing  the  union,  the  fair  fugitive  yielded,  and 
they  twain  became  one  stream. 


10  THE    MOUTH    OF    WILD    HIVER. 

Mr.  Jackwood  professed  an  acquaintance  with  the  geography 
of  this  region,  which  he  proposed  to  explore.  Abimelech,  elated 
with  the  idea,  trotted  along  by  his  father's  side,  carrying  his  fish- 
pole  jauntily,  and  chattering  incessantly. 

"  Here  is  a  lesson  for  ye,  Bim'lech,"  said  his  father,  as  they 
reached  the  vicinity  of  the  river,  pointing  to  an  old-fashioned 
dilapidated  house,  in  a  wild-looking  yard  by  the  road-side. 
"  This  used  to  be  the  fust  best  farm  on  the  interval ;  an'  the  man 
't  lives  here  bid  fair  to  be  the  richest  man  in  the  county.  Fif- 
teen year'  ago,  where  you  see  all  them  beds  o'  gravel  an'  rocks, 
there  was  about  the  han'somest  field  of  corn  't  I  ever  set  eyes  on. 
Wai,  it  got  along  to'ards  the  last  of  August,  and  the  corn  prom- 
ised to  turn  out  nobly ;  everybody  was  praisin'  on 't,  an'  Mr. 
Hoodlett  made  his  brags  on  't,  tellin'  about  the  great  crop  he  was 
goin'  to  have,  till  it  seemed  to  me  su'thin'  must  happen  to  that 
corn.  So,  one  day,  when  I  was  passin'  by,  I  spoke  to  Hoodlett. 
Says  I,  '  Hoodlett,'  says  I,  '  what  if  your  corn  should  turn  out 
poor,  arter  all  ? '  says  I.  '  'T  an't  possible,'  says  he  ;  '  I  know  I 
shall  have  the  biggest  crop  ever  raised  on  the  crick,  jes  's  well 's 
if  I  'd  seen  it  harvested.'  '  Don't  be  too  sure,'  says  I.  '  Man 
ap'ints,  and  God  disap'ints.'  '  I  tell  ye  what,'  says  he,  4  neigh- 
bor Jackwood,'  says  he,  '  I  would  n't  ask  God  Almighty  to  insure 
me  seventy-five  bushels  to  the  acre,  any  way,'  says  he ;  '  I  shall 
have  it,  an'  there  's  no  gittin'  away  from  't.'  Wai,  it  was  rainin' 
a  little  that  day ;  but  it  rained  harder  that  night ;  an'  all  the 
next  day,  an'  the  next  night,  it  come  down  like  forty-'leven  Dutch 
pedlers ;  an'  the  next  mornin',  when  Hoodlett  looked  out  o'  the 
winder,  there  wan't  a  stalk  o'  corn,  nor  a  square  foot  o'  corn-field, 
to  cure  sore  eyes  with." 
"  What  had  'come  on  't  ?  " 

"  'T  wan't  insured,  an'  't  was  gone.  Wild  River  's  a  terrible 
fractious  stream,  time  of  freshets,  but  it  never  done  noth'n'  like 
that  'fore  nor  sencc.  It  come  down  through  the  Narrers  with  a 
roar  't  could  be  heerd  miles  away.  It  overflowed  the  hull 
country  'bout  here,  an'  brought  down  a  grist  o'  trees  an'  rocks 
from  the  mountains,  with  more  gravel  'n  a  man  could  cart  away 
in  ;i  lill-tiiiu'.  The  corn-field  took  the  wu.st  on  't,-an'  got  sarved 


THE    MOUTH    OF   WILD    RIVER.'  ll 


BO  bad,  't  a  stranger  would  n't  a  b'lieved,  the  day  arter,  that  there 
was  ever  so  much  as  a  road  through  the  tanglements  of  trees, 
roots,  an'  tops,  that  lay  half  buried  and  piled  on  to  each  other,  all 
up  an'  down  the  river.  That  was  the  ruination  of  Hoodlett.  Tha 
best  part  of  his  land  was  sp'ilt ;  an'  it  looked  so  much  like  a  judg- 
ment from  Heav'm,  't  he  got  discouraged,  an'  has  ben  runniu'  down 
hill  ever  sence." 

The  adventurers  had  by  this  time  reached  the  bank  of  the  river, 
which  foamed  and  flashed,  and  plunged  and  bubbled,  and  shot  in 
Bwift,  green  currents  amid  the  great  round  bowlders  that  lay  scat- 
tered up  and  down  its  bed,  while  the  music  of  its  plashing  filled 
the  air. 

Here  they  turned  aside  from  the  road,  passing  through  a  waste 
and  barren  field ;  climbed  a  high  bank  lifted  upon  a  perpendicular 
wall  of  rock  from  the  bed  of  the  stream,  and  entered  a  thick  grove 
of  young  trees.  Mr.  Jackwood  went  forward  with  the  poles,  fol- 
lowing a  path  that  led  along  the  brink  of  the  precipice.  Abime- 
lech  kept  behind,  sometimes  stopping  to  pick  from  the  young 
spruces  bits  of  gum,  which  stuck  provokingly  in  his  teeth ;  or 
chewing  leaves  of  the  bitter  hemlock  ;  or  peeling  thin  ribbons  of 
the  silver  birch. 

"  Is  hemlock  p'ison  ?  "  asked  the  boy,  spitting  out  some  leaves. 

"  P'ison  ?  —  no.     What  makes  you  ask  that  ?  " 

"  'Cause  I  jest  happened  to  think  my  history-book  says  Socrates 
drinked  hemlock  to  kill  himself." 

"  O,  wal,"  replied  Mr.  Jackwood,  "  I  've  no  doubt  'twould  kill 
a  man,  if  he  should  take  enough  on  't ;  so  would  a  good  many 
other  things." 

"  Socrates  must  a'  took  a  perty  good  swig,"  suggested  Bim. 

"  Or  perhaps  't  was  the  ground  hemlock  ;  that 's  p'ison.  But 
keep  still  now  ;  you  '11  scare  all  the  fish." 

-  They  reached  a  lodge  which  overhung  a  deep,  narrow  basin  of  • 
rock.  Beneath  them  lay  the  water,  clear  and  calm.  Stones,  and 
pebbles,  and  fishes,  could  be  seen  in  its  transparent  depths.  Here 
they  threw  in  their  hooks,  with  tempting  baits ;  they  tried  alter 
initely  worms  and  flies  ;  from  the  shallow  falls,  where  the  singing 
water  came  rushing  down  from  above,  to  the  stony  shelves  at  the 


|2  1UE    MOUTH    OF    WILD  RIVER. 


mouth  of  the  basin,  where  the  crystal  sheet  burst  once  more  into 
bubbles  and  sparkles  of  foam,  they  left  no  spot  unvisited  by  their 
lines.  But  neither  perch,  nor  pickerel,  nor  trout,  could  bo 
allured. 

«'  What  fools  they  be  !  "  cried  the  indignant  Bim.  "  I  put  my 
hook  right  up  to  their  mouths,  and  they  don't  know  enough  to 
swaller  it.  I  don't  believe  but  that  we  can  ketch  some  of  these 
big  fellers  with  a  snare." 

It  seemed  possible.  Accordingly,  a  few  minutes  later,  in  place 
of  hooks,  wide  round  loops  of  copper  wire  went  down  into  the  still 
basin.  But  now  the  fi.sh  grew  suddenly  very  shy.  Through  the 
snares  and  around  them  they  darted,  in  a  most  tantalizing  man- 
ner ;  sometimes  remaining  quiet  and  watchful  until  the  wire  ap- 
proached within  too  dangerous  proximity  of  their  noses,  then 
shooting  away  in  schools.  Not  one  could  be  taken  ;  and  after 
another  half-hour's  unsuccessful  sport,  Mr.  Jackwood's  patience 
failing  him,  he  reluctantly  wound  up  his  lines. 

"  I  tell  ye  what,  Bim'lech,  there 's  no  use  wastin'  time  in  this 
'ere  wretched  hole.  We  '11  be  sure  o'  ketchin'  suthin'  at  the 
mouth  of  the  river." 

Below  the  bridge,  they  undertook  to  follow  the  bed  of  the 
httvam.  For  some  distance  they  experienced  no  difficulty  ;  they 
enjoyed  excellent  advantages  for  fishing,  as  they  proceeded,  with 
the  exception  of  the  simple  fact  that  no  fish  would  bite ;  but  at 
length  the  narrow  channel  to  which  the  stream  had  shrunk  during 
the  dry  weather  began  to  widen  and  shift  its  course,  and  it 
became  necessary  either  to  leave  the  river-bed  altogether,  or 
cross  over  to  the  white  fields  of  dry  stones  that  now  made  their 
appearance  on  the  other  side.  First  they  tried  the  banks;  but 
tin'  tall  grass  and  the  strong  willows  were  found  serious  obstacles 
in  the  way  .of  comfortable  fishing.  Then  they  attempted  to  cross 
the  si  ream  on  the  stones,  selecting  a  shallow  place  for  the  execu- 
tioirof  the  enterprise.  But  the  round  bowlders,  covered  with  the 
scum  of  dried  slime,  proved  treacherous  footholds,  rolling  and 
turning  on  the  slippery  stones  beneath  them,  and  perilling  the  bal- 
IBM  even  of  Ilic  careful  and  sagacious  Mr.  Jackwoou.  Abime- 
hvh  followed  his  adventurous  parent;  when  suddenly  the  fitter 


TIIE   MOUTH    OF   WILD    RIVER.  13 


heard  a  great  splashing  behind  him,  and  looked  around.  ^The  boy 
was  floundering  in  the  water,  and  endeavoring,  in  a  great  panic, 
to  regain  a  footing  on  the  stones. 

"  Careless  !  "  exclaimed  Mr.  Jackwood.  "  There,  there,  stau' 
still !  The  water  won't  drownd  ye ;  't  an't  up  to  your  knees 
Now,  what  need  was  there  o'  gittin'  in  all  over  ?  " 

He  was  still  speaking,  when  the  bowlder  on  which  he  imagined 
himself  firmly  planted  began  to  revolve.  To  preserve  his  balance, 
he  stepped  carefully  forward  ;  but  the  boy  had  spattered  all  that 
side  of  the  rock,  and,  Mr.  Jackwood's  foot  resting  on  a  spot  as 
slippery  as  glass,  he  slid,  with  a  great  splash,  into  the  water,  bring- 
ing down  the  rattling  fish-poles,  in  rather  dangerous  style,  on  the 
crown  of  Abimelech's  head. 

"  0,  0,  0  !  "  screamed  the  boy,  pitching  about  once  more  m 
the  water. 

"  Ketch  holt  o'  my  hand  !  "  cried  the  elder  Jackwood.  "  This 
all  comes  o'  your  wantin'  to  go  a-fishin' !  " 

13im  cried  desolately  ;  and,  having  reached  the  dry  stones, 
stood  with  distended  hands  and  feet,  dripping  like  a  newly- 
washed  sheep. 

"  D'  I  hurt  your  head  ? "  asked  his  father,  touched  with 
remorse. 

"  Ye-e-s !  You  mos'  broke  it !  "  snuffled  Bim.  "  0,  you 
h-u-r-t !  "  —  as  Mr.  Jackwood,  with  paternal  solicitude,  examined 
his  crown.  "  It 's  bad  enough,  I  should  think,  to  kill  a  feller, 
thout  scoldin'  him  for  't  afterwards." 

"  Don't  talk  so  ! "  said  his  father,  sternly.  "  Ye  an't  hurt  much, 
I  guess,  arter  all  the  fuss." 

"  Yes  I  be,  too  !  "  whined  Abimelech,  holding  his  head  in  his 
hands.  "  You  'd  think  so,  if  you  'd  ben  knocked  over  with  a 
couple  o'  thunderin'  great  poles." 

"  There,  don't  swear  !  I  guess  now  we  '11  go  hum  ;  we  've  had 
about  sport  enough  for  one  day." 

The  injured  Bim  became  suddenly  pacified. 

"  I  don't  want  ter  go  hum,"  —  giving  his  crown  a  final  nib, 
and  putting  on  his  straw  hat.     "  1  can  get  dry  in  a  little  while. 
My  head  feels  better  now." 
•2 


14  THE    MOUTH   OF   WILD   RIVER. 

Mr.  Jackwood  sat  down  and  emptied  the  water  out  of  h\>  boots. 
His  hopeful  heir  followed  his  example  ;  and  afterwards  divested 
himself  of  his  trousers,  in  order  to  wring  them  out  and  hang  them 
on  the  bushes  to  dry.  Then,  in  a  light  and  picturesque  costume, 
he  went  hopping  about  on  the  stones,  with  his  fishing  apparatus, 
and  caught  a  fine  brace  of  trout  during  the  ensuing  half-hour. 

"  I  declare,"  said  his  father,  "  if  you  don't  beat  the  Dutch  !  I 
han't  had  a  nibble  yit." 

"  0,  my ! "  cried  the  excited  boy,  leaping  recklessly  upon  an 
unstable  stone,  "  there  is  a  smashin'  big  feller  !  " 

Mr.  Jackwood  thought  it  must  be  indeed  a  "  smashin'  big  fel- 
ler," from  the  great  commotion  of  waters.  He  looked  up,  and 
saw  an  object  flouncing  in  the  river  like  a  young  whale.  It  was 
Abimelech,  however,  not  the  fish. 

"  So  you  thought  you  'd  jump  in  arter  him,  did  you  ?  You  're 
a  smart  boy  !  " 

Abimelech 's  second  ducking  had  been  more  thorough  and  exten- 
sive than  the  first ;  so  that,  by  the  time  his  trousers  were  dry 
enough  to  put  on,  his  shirt  was  in  a  capital  condition  to  go  upon 
the  bushes  in  their  place.  But  the  charm  was  now  broken  ;  no 
more  luck  had  he  ;  so  he  hastened  to  tie  his  freshly-washed  gar- 
ment to  his  fish-pole,  and,  waving  it  in  the  air  like  a  banner,  fol- 
lowed his  father  down  the  river. 

In  consequence  of  recent  freshets,  the  river  had  changed  its  bed 
a  dozen  times ;  the  valley  appeared  ploughed  up  with  ravines, 
which  branched  out  in  every  direction.  The  dry  fields  of  stones 
had  disappeared  ;  the  stream  became  sluggish  and  dark,  creeping 
over  the  black  ooze  of  the  interval ;  and  the  grass  on  the  banks 
now  grew  so  thick,  aq^Ank,  and  high,  that  the  boy  became 
disheartened.  £*  ^^^ 

"  I  can't  go  no  fu'ther  !  "  he  complained.  "  There  's  brakes, 
an'  nettles,  an'  everything^)  bother  a  feller.  I  'm  afraid  o' 
snakes." 

"  Keep  up  good  pluck  !  "  cried  his  father.  "  Here  's  the  crick, 
close  by." 

What  was  taken  for  the  creek  proved  to  >e  an  old  bed,  with  a 
black  and  .shining  pool  of  dead  water  fast  asleep  in  it,  between 


THE    MOUTH   OF   WILD    RIVER. 


crumbling  banks.  To  go  around  it  was  a  labor  replete  wit  a  pain 
and  difficulty.  It  led  over  flats  full  of  dangerous  sloughs  ;  then 
other  such  pools  appeared,  in  the  midst  of  which  our  adventurers 
became  confused.  Sometimes  they  mistook  the  river  for  the 
creek  ;  more  than  once  they  mistook  the  creek  for  the  river  ;  and 
finally  there  appeared  to  be  numberless  rivers  and  creeks  winding 
in  every  direction. 

"  There  !  "  cried  Mr.  Jackwood,  at  length,  "  there  's  the  creek, 
this  time,  't  any  rate.  We  '11  find  it  nuff  easier  goin'  on  t'  other 
side  to  pay  for  crossin'  over ;  then  we  can  go  up  to  Dunbery's  old 
bridge,  an'  so  hum.  It 's  go'n'  to  rain  ;  an'  I  don't  see  any  gre't 
chance  for  fishin'  here,  arter  all." 

"  But  we  can't  cross  here  !  "  whined  the  disappointed  Abirae- 
lech  ;  "  the  water  's  a  mile  deep." 

It  was  a  broad  channel,  filled  with  clear,  still  water,  in  the 
depths  of  which  could  be  seen  great  shining  logs,  lying  tangled 
and  crossed  on  the  black  mud  of  the  interval. 

"  What  a  boy  you  be  to  stretch  a  story  !  "  exclaimed  Mr.  Jack- 
wood.  "  Here  is  a  good  place  to  ford." 

He  rolled  up  his  trousers  above  his  knees,  and  carried  Abime- 
lech  over  on  his  back ;  when,  reaching  the  opposite  bank,  he  sat 
down  to  pull  on  his  boots,  which  the  boy  had  brought  over  in  his 
hands. 

"  Where  's  my  stockin's  ?  "  —  thrusting  his  hand  down  one  of 
the  legs. 

"  I  d'n'  know ;  I  han't  seen  'em,"  replied  the  boy. 

"  You  don'  know  !  Why  don't  you  know  ?  I  told  you  to  take 
care  on  'em." 

"  I  guess  you  laid  'em  down  on  t'gHpr  side." 

"  An'  I  got  to  go  back  arter  'em^^p  wisT$  you  'd  larn  to  keep 
your  wits  about  ye  !  " 

Mr.  Jackwood  arose,  and,  rolling^)  his  trousers  again,  although 
the  water-mark  was  some  inches  above  their  utmost  elevation,  re- 
turned to  the  opposite  bank.  But  no  socks  were  to  be  found. 

"  You  let  'em  drop  in  the  water,  sartin  as  the  world  ! "  he 
exclaimed,  giving  \fy  the  search.  Abimelech  protested  against 
the  injustice  of  this  charge.  "  0,  you  're  a  terrible  innocent 


1G  THE    MOUTH    OF    WILD    RIVER 


boy ! " — sitting  down  and  straining  at  the  straps  of  tne  of  his  boots 
"  Now,  what 's  to  pay,  I  wonder  ?  What  ye  ben  puttin'  in  this 
boot?" 

Mr.  Jackwood  withdrew  his  foot,  put  in  his  hand,  and  extracted 
a  stocking. 

"  If  it  don't  beat  all !  I  remember,  now.  I  did  tuck  'em  in 
my  boots ;  an'  they  're  so  wet  they  dropped  clean  down  into  the 
toes." 

"  Blame  me,  will  ye,  next  time !  "  muttered  Bim.  "  0,  'f  course 
I  lost  'em  in  the  river !  " 

"Is  that  the  way  to  talk  to  your  father?"  asked  Mr.  Jack- 
wood,  solemnly.  "  You  better  be  careful ! " 

Abimelech  continued  to  mutter;  but,  his  father  suggesting  sig- 
nificantly that  he'd  do  well  to  wait  till  he  got  his  boots  on,  he 
hushed,  and  contented  himself  with  looking  sullen.  Resuming 
their  tramp,  they  had  not  proceeded  far,  when  he  began  to  grum- 
ble again,  very  faintly. 

"  What 's  that?"  cried  his  father,  sharply,  looking  around. 

"  I  could  a'  ketched  'nough  fish,  if  you  'd  le'  me  staid  where  1 
was.  Might  a'  know'd  we  could  n't  do  nothin'  down  here." 

"  Where's  the  fi.sh  you  did  ketch?" 

"  I  d'n'  know !  —  I  guess  I  —  I  left  'em  on  the  ground  where 
you  put  your  boots  on  !  "  —  beginning  to  cry. 

"Wai,  wal,  never  mind,"  said  Mr.  Jackwood;  " 't  won't  take 
long  to  go  back  arter  'em.  Cheer  up,  an'  I  '11  go  on  an'  see  what 
them  bushes  look  like,  ahead  here." 

Ten  minutes  later,  Mr.  Jackwood  shouted. 

"  Hurrah,  Bim'lech  !  where  be  ye?  " 

"  I  can't  find  my  fi>h  !  "  cried  the  boy  ;  "  somebody  's  come  an' 
stole  'em ! " 

At  that  moment  there  was  a  vivid  flash  of  lightning,  which  lit 
up  the  entire  canopy  of  the  sky,  and  a  heavy  drop  plashed  upon 
Abimelech's  hand.  He  had  explored  the  bank  in  vain  ;  while  all 
the  tima  the  little  willow  bough,  on  which  the  fish  were  strung, 
peeped  out  of  the  trampled  grass  before  his  eyes.  Agitated  and 
blind  with  tears,  he  could  not  see  it;  and  now,  in  a  panic  of  fear 
abandoning  the  search,  he  attempted  to  return  to  his  father. 


THE   MOUTH    OF  WILD   EIVEB.  17 


"  Here ! "  shouted  Mr.  Jackwood,  sending  up  his  hat  on  tnt  end 
of  a  pole  as  a  signal,  "  do  ye  see  this  ?  " 

Thrusting  the  pole  into  the  ground,  he  was  on  the  point  of  going 
in  pursuit  of  the  boy,  when  his  attention  was  attracted  by  a  cry  in 
another  direction.  He  paused  and  hallooed.  The  cry  was  repeated. 
It  sounded  like  that  of  some  person  in  distress.  Leaving  Abime 
lech,  therefore,  to  make  the  best  of  his  way  out  of  the  grass,  Mr. 
Jackwood  advanced  upon  the  rotting  timber  of  a  bridge  thrown 
across  the  creek. 

Beyond  was  an  old  barn,  that  stood  half  hidden  by  the  willows 
and  young  elms,  festooned  with  vines,  that  grew  by  the  stream ; 
and  as  the  voice  sounded  in  that  direction,  he  kept  on,  until  there 
arose  suddenly  before  him  out  of  the  grass  what  seemed  the  bent 
form  of  an  old  woman,  leaning  upon  a  staff. 

"  It 's  some  plaguy  old  witch  or  'nother !  "  he  muttered  to  him 
self. 

She  attempted  to  approach  him,  whereupon  he  made  a  deferen 
tial  step  backwards  towards  the  bridge.  Mr.  Jackwood  had  his 
own  opinions  about  witches. 

"  0,  sir,  if  you  will  be  so  kind  as  to  help  me !  "  she  faltered, 
sinking  down  again  in  the  tangled  grass. 

"  Wai,  I  an't  a  man  to  pass  by  on  t'  other  side  when  there 's 
suff 'rin'  in  the  way,"  said  Mr.  Jackwood,  approaching ;  "  though 
I  'm  a  little  grain  skittish  about  stragglers.  What  'pears  to  be 
the  matter,  hey  ?  " 

"  I  have  lost  my  way,"  answered  the  woman,  faintly,  resting 
her  head  upon  her  hand,  "  and  I  can  go  no  further." 

"  Tuckered  out,  hey  ?  Wai,  that 's  bad  !  But  you  can  man- 
age to  git  up  to  the  road,  can't  ye  ?  " 

The  woman  replied  that  she  was  too  much  exhausted  to  walk. 

"  Hoity-toity  !  "  cried  Mr.  Jackwood,  cheerily.  "  This  '11  never 
do.  Where  there 's  life  there  's  hope.  Only  think  you  can,  and 
you  can,  you  know.  B'sides,  mebby  I  can  help.  You  won't 
be  sorry ;  you'll  find  a  warm  supper  an'  a  good  comf 'table  sheltei 
Bome'eres,  I  promise  ye." 

He  extended  his  hand :  the  woman  clasped  it  convulsively. 
2* 


18  TUB  MOUTH   OF   WILD   RIVER. 


"  You  will  be  my  friend  !  "  she  articulated,  with  strange  vehe 
mence  —  «  something  tells  rue  that  I  can  trust  you  !  " 

"  My  name 's  Jackwood ;  I  live  on  the  crick,  jest  above  here. 
Everybody  knows  Bim'lech  Jackwood,"  replied  the  farmer. 

"  You  are  my  only  hope,"  said  the  woman,  "  and  I  will  have 
faith  that  you  have  been  sent  to  me." 

"  I  like  that ;  that  'ere  sounds  han'some  an'  pious.  But  seems 
to  me  you  don't  "pear  quite  so  old  as  I  took  you  to  be  at  fust." 

"  I  am  not  old.  I  have  been  obliged  to  appear  so  for  safety. 
You  will  not  betray  me !  " 

"Don't  be  afeared,"  exclaimed  Mr.  Jackwood,  with  hearty 
sympathy. 

"Let  me  appear  to  you  as  I  am,  then."  And  the  stranger 
removed  a  pair  of  spectacles  that  concealed  her  eyes ;  took  off  the 
bonnet  that  almost  covered  her  face ;  put  back  from  her  forehead 
the  old-woman's  cap,  with  its  wig  of  gray  hair  attached  and  dis- 
covered thick  masses  of  dark  hair  loosened  and  falling  down  her 
neck. 


II. 

THE  STRANGER  AND  THE  STORM. 

MR.  JACKWOOD  stood  astonished.  Such  eyes  —  such  wonder- 
fully soft  and  lustrous  eyes  —  he  had  never  seen  before. 

"  Why,  do  tell,  now !  I  never  had  anything  come  over  me  so, 
in  all  my  born  days  !  Then  them  'ere  marks  on  your  face  t'  look 
like  wrinkles  an't  nat'ral,  hey  ?  " 

"  I  will  go  to  the  water  and  wash  them  off,"  replied  the  stranger. 
"  But  do  not  question  me,  nor  ever  speak  of  this." 

At  that  juncture  Abimelech  was  heard  screaming  frantically. 

"  I  shall  haf  to  go  for  that  boy,  sartin  's  the  world ! "  exclaimed 
the  farmer.  "  How  do  ye  feel  now  ?  Think  you  can  walk  a 
hunderd  rods  or  so  ?  " 

"  You  have  given  me  hope,"  said  the  wanderer ;  "  and  hope 
gives  life  and  strength !  " 

"  That 's  more  like  it !  that 's  the  way  to  talk !  I  should  n't 
wonder  if  we  git  home  now  'fore  it  rains,  to  speak  of.  Only,  when 
you  've  washed,  if  you  '11  make  an  effort  and  creep  along  slow,  — 
this  'ere  's  the  track,  ye  know ;  keep  where  the  grass  is  thin,  — 
it  '11  give  Bim'lech  an'  me  a  chance,  an'  we  '11  overtake  you  'fore 
you  git  fur." 

And  so,  with  a  parting  word  of  cheer,  Mr.  Jackwood  disap- 
peared behind  the  elms.  Left  alone,  the  girl  made  haste  to  wash 
her  hands  and  face ;  then,  having  thrown  away  her  staff,  and  care- 
fully concealed  the  wig,  cap,  and  spectacles,  about  her  person,  she 
resumed  the  old  bonnet,  which  corresponded  well  with  the  rest  of 
her  attire,  and  set  out  to  walk  slowly  along  the  track  indicated  by 
Mr.  Jackwood. 

Abimelech 's  voice  meanwhile  grew  fainter  and  fainter;  and, 


20         THE  STRANGER  AND  THE  STORM. 

after  a  baffling  search,  his  father  found  him  sunk  to  his  knees  in 
the  black  mud  of  a  slough.  Taking  him  by  the  arm,  he  dragged 
him  out,  shouldered  him,  and  carried  him  off  bodily. 

"  Hush  up !  hush  up  !  You  an't  dead,  arter  all.  You  can't 
guess  what  I  have  found,  out  here.  It 's  suthin'  better  'n  two 
little  mis'ble  trout." 

"  Is 't  a  otter  ?  "  asked  the  boy,  with  a  sudden  lull  in  his  lam- 
entations. 

"  You  '11  see,  you  '11  see.     Don't  say  nothin',  but  laugh." 

Reaching  the  bridge,  Mr.  Jackwood  set  him  on  his  feet,  shoul- 
dered the  fish-poles  in  his  place,  and,  walking  on,  pointed  out  the 
stranger. 

"  That 's  the  way  you  alluz  fool  me !  I  thought  you  'd  got 
Buthin' !  Heugh !  a  woman !  an'  a  beggar  woman,  too !  " 

"  Stop  that !  "  cried  Mr.  Jackwood.  "  You  talk  like  a  young 
heathen.  An't  we  commanded  to  help  the  needy  ?  What 's  the 
use  o'  your  goin'  to  Sunday-school,  I  'd  like  to  know  ?  " 

"  Who  is  she,  any  way  ?  " 

"  Hush  !  "  with  a  significant  motion  of  the  hand.  "  Hem  !  " 
coughed  the  farmer,  preparatory  to  addressing  the  stranger.  — 
"  Keep  a  little  back,  Bim'lech !  —  Hem !  you  'pear  to  be  doin' 
perty  well ;  feel  better,  don't  ye  ?  If  you  should  take  my  arm, 
now,  I  guess  we  '11  be  able  to  git  along  finely." 

With  a  word  of  thanks,  feebly  spoken,  the  stranger  accepted 
the  offer,  —  and  need  enough  there  seemed  that  he  should  assist 
her  weary  footsteps.  She  turned  upon  him,  as  she  did  so,  the 
light  of  those  wonderful  eyes,  and  smiled  a  grateful  smile,  which 
seemed  to  struggle  against  embarrassment  and  fatigue.  . 

"  Did  you  come  from  the  north  ?  " 

"  Yes,  sir,"  she  faltered,  —  "I  mean  no,  sir.  I  came,  I  think, 
from  that  direction,"  —  pointing  directly  at  the  old  Bear  Back, 
the  highest  and  most  rugged  of  the  western  range  of  mountains, 
that  bounded  the  valley.  "  I  followed  a  road  till  I  lost  it  in  the 
woods,  then  I  tried  to  cross  the  valley." 

"You  follered  that  'ere  road?  You  was  travellin'  north, 
then?" 

"  I  am  a  little  confused  ;  I  hardly  know  what  I  tell  you." 


THE   STRANGER   AND    TIIE   STORM.  2] 


"  Turned  'round,  be  ye  ?  Wai,  I  don't  wonder  at  that.  So  1 
shan't  ax  you  no  questions.  I  'd  like  to  inquire,  though,  if 
your  parents  live  down  north,  here." 

"My  parents?"  said  the  girl,  with  an  effort;  "  I  —  I  have 
lost  them !  " 

"  0,  they  're  dead,  then  !  I  an't  none  o'  the  pryin'  sort,  but 
I  should  like  to  know  if  their  names  was  Carter.  P'rhaps  I 
know'd  'em.  That  wasn't  the  name,  hey?  Wai,  I  an't  goin'  to 
ax  questions ;  but  seems  to  me  I  've  seen  you  som'eres.  Ts  your 
name  Burbank  ?  " 

"No,  sir;  and  I  was  never  in  this  part  of  the  country  before." 

"You're  a  native  o'  York  State,  then,  I  conclude?  No? 
Mebby,  then,  you  've  ben  to  work  in  the  factories,  down  to  Lowell 
an'  Lawrence.  I  've  got  a  darter  't  's  talked  some  o'  tryin'  her 
hand  at  that  business ;  she  would,  in  a  minute,  if  I  'd  let  her. 
No?  Wai,  never  mind,  —  I  an't  one  o'  the  pryin'  sort.  I  forgit, 
though,  what  you  said  your  name  was." 

"  Say,  father,"  interrupted  Abimelech,  at  this  important  crisis, 
"  the  rain 's  comin'  like  great  guns  !  You  can't  see  the  old  Bear 
Back ! " 

"  I  guess  we  '11  hurry  on  a  leetle  grain  faster,  if  you  an't  too 
tired,  Miss I  don't  remember  your  name,"  said  Mr.  Jack- 
wood. 

"  I  never  heerd  the  mountain  roar  so  in  all  my  life !  "  cried  the 
excited  Bim.  "  Do  look,  father  !  how  the  trees  thrash  about ! 
See  'em !  see  'em !  all  over  the  mountain !  How  dark  it  grows ! " 

"We  shall  have  it  here  in  a  minute."  said  Mr.  Jackwood.  "A 

leetle  grain  faster,  if  you  can  's  well 's  not,  Miss Did  I 

understand  you  to  say  your  name  was  —  " 

At  that  moment,  a  swift  squad  of  the  storm,  charging  down 
from  the  mountain  with  volleys  of  arrowy  rain,  swept  over  our 
little  party.  The  elm-trees  trembled,  and  reeled,  and  tossed  their 
long  green  hair,  while  the  tall  grass  of  the  interval  rose  and  fell, 
and  whirled  in  eddies,  like  a  sea. 

"  There  goes  my  hat !  "  screamed  Abimelech. 

It  lodged  in  the  grass,  and  his  father  caught  it  with  his  fish- 
pole. 


THE  STRANGER  AND  THE  STORM. 


The  boy  sprang  to  seize  it,  and  pulled  it  on  his  head  with  such 
desperation  as  to  tear  away  the  rim,  and  leave  a  liberal  rent  for 
his  hair  to  flutter  through ;  and  thus,  with  the  appearance  of  hold- 
ing himself  down  by  the  ears,  he  scudded  on  before  the  gale.  His 
companions  followed  more  slowly ;  the  stranger,  in  fluttering 
attire,  clinging  to  her  friend,  and  Mr.  Jackwood,  looking  solid  and 
responsible  under  his  burden,  snuffing  the  squall  complacently,  and 
dragging  the  fish-poles  after. 


III. 

THE  FARM-HOUSE. 

THOROUGHLY  drenched,  the  little  party  arrived  at  the  farm- 
house. 

"  Why  !  my  sakes !  "  cried  Mrs.  Jackwood,  as  the  kitchen  door 
flew  open,  and  they  came  in  with  the  lashing  rain,  —  "I  never 
see!  Do  shet  the  door  quick,  Bim'lech!  Is  this  'Tildy  Fos- 
dick?" 

In  the  gloom,  she  mistook  her  husband's  companion  for  one  of 
the  neighbors.  Mr.  Jackwood  corrected  the  error. 

"  La,  wal !  I  s'pose  we  can  keep  her  one  night,  't  any  rate," 
said  his  wife.  "  Soppin'  wet,  an't  ye  ?  Be  ye  'fraid  o'  ketchin' 
cold?" 

"  No,  I  don't  think  of  that,"  answered  the  girl,  shiveringly. 

"  Wal,  come  to  the  stove,  an'  warm  ye ;  "  and  Mrs.  Jackwood 
drew  up  the  high-backed  rocking-chair.  "  Set  here.  —  Phrebe, 
put  in  some  more  wood.  I  s'pose  I  might  let  you  have  one  o'  my 
ol'  gowns  to  put  on:  I  guess  I  better.  You  don't  look  very 
tough.  I  '11  take  your  wet  bunnit." 

Mrs.  Jackwood  hung  the  drenched  article  upon  a  .peg ;  then, 
having  lighted  a  candle  with  a  coal  she  took  from  the  fire,  she 
turned  once  more  to  the  stranger. 

"  Dear  me  !  "  —  betraying  a  lively  emotion,  —  "  you  an't  stub- 
bid,  be  ye?  You  don't  look  fit  to  be  travllin'  in  this  way! 
Whereabouts  is  yer  home  ?  " 

The  girl  appeared  to  make  an  effort  to  speak. 

"  Don't  be  axin'  questions,  mother  !  "  spoke  up  Mr.  Jackwood. 
"You  see,"  he  added,  considerately,  in  an  undertone,  "it  hurts  hei 
teelin's.  —  I  shall  have  to  git  ye  to  speak  yer  name  once  more, 
if  ye  please." 


24  THE   FARM-IIOUSE. 


"  Charlotte  Woods,"  articulated  the  stranger. 

"  Cha'lotte  "Woods,"  repeated  the  farmer,  with  an  air  of 
thoughtful  interest. — "Go  'way,  Phoebe,"  —  in  a  whisper;  "don't 
stan'  starin'  at  her !  —  There 's  a  Woods  under  the  mountain ;  is 
he  any  relation?" 

The  girl  shook  her  head.  She  was  apparently  seventeen  or 
eighteen  years  of  age;  but  her  features,  of  delicate  mould, 
and  of  a  «oft,  brunette  complexion,  bordering  upon  the  olive, 
showed  traces  of  passion  and  suffering  rarely  seen  in  one  so  young. 
Her  eyes  were  tremulously  downcast,  and  her  slender  hands 
clasped  across  her  lap  in  an  attitude  of  intense  emotion.  The 
contrast  of  her  humble  drenched  attire  and  the  yellow  lamp-light 
that  fell  upon  it  served  to  heighten  the  effect  of  the  scene.  It 
was  at  once  picturesque  and  touching.  Not  even  the  uncultivated 
inmates  of  the  Jackwood  dwelling  were  insensible  to  it ;  and  a 
respectful  hush  followed  the  farmer's  last  question,  all  eyes  ap- 
pearing to  regard  the  unknown  guest  with  mingled  solicitude  and 
deference. 

Mrs.  Jackwood  broke  the  silence.  "  Shall  I  give  you  that  dry 
gown  to  put  on  ?  " 

"  Thank  you,"  said  the  stranger,  "  I  am  quite  comfortable." 

"  Give  her  a  drop  o'  that  'ere  currant  wine,"  whispered  the 
farmer. 

"Where's  all  yer  fish?"  Mrs.  Jackwood  at  last  thought  to 
inquire.  "  The  cat  '11  eat  'em  up,  if  they  're  under  the  stoop." 

'•  I  guess  all  we  brought  home  won't  hurt  her,  if  she  eats  bones 
an'  all,"  said  Mr.  Jackwood. 

"  Why,  did  n't  ye  ketch  none  ?  " 

"  I  ketched  two  trout,  real  nice  ones,  an'  lost  "em,"  snivelled 
I3im,  in  the  corner. 

"  What  ye  crvin'  about  ?  " 

"  I  tore  my  knee  all  open !  I  was  runnin'  on  ahead,  an'  fell 
down,  right  on  to  a  great  rock." 

"  Wai,  wal,  you  '11  feel  better  arter  supper,"  said  his  father. 
"  You  need  n't  help  about  the  chores  to-night.  You  've  had  a 
pcrty  hard  time  on 't,  this  arternoon,  that 's  a  fact.  You  won't 
want  to  go  a-fishin'  agin  very  soon,  will  ye  ?  " 


THE   FARM-HOUSE.  25 


"  I  don't  want  to  go  to  Wild  River  !  "  mumbled  the  aggrieved 
Bim.  "  They  're  the  meanest  fish !  My  fust  two  nibbles  was 
bites,  then  all  my  other  bites  was  nibbles." 

Meanwhile  supper  was  waiting,  only  the  tea  '  "as  to  be  drawn  ; 
and  Mr.  Jackwood  proposed  that  they  should  '  set  right  down." 
But  the  stranger  felt  too  faint  to  think  of  food. 

"  Wai,"  said  Mr.  Jackwood,  after  a  moment's  reflection,  "  I 
guess  I  '11  go  an'  milk,  then,  an'  have  the  chores  done  up  'fore 
supper.  If  you  git  ready  to  se'  down,  don't  wait  for  me." 

He  took  the  rattling  milk-pails  from  the  pantry,  and  went  out 
in  the  darkness  and  storm,  to  finish  the  labors  of  the  day.  He 
fed  the  squealing  pigs,  and  stopped  their  noise ;  gave  the  bleating 
calves  their  suppers  j  drove  the  sheep  out  of  the  door-yard  ;  and 
returned,  at  length,  to  the  kitchen,  bearing  two  brimming  pails  of 
milk  —  and  rain-water. 

He  found  his  guest  still  sitting  by  the  stove,  reposing  languidly 
in  the  high-backed  chair ;  having,  in  the  mean  time,  however,  put 
on  dry  apparel,  for  which  she  was  indebted  to  Mrs.  Jackwood's 
kindness. 

"  Wai,  how  d'  ye  find  yourself  arter  your  shower-bath  ?  "  he 
inquired,  cheerily.  "Think  ye  can  eat  a  little  supper,  now? 
Can,  hey  ?  That 's  right ;  turn  right  'round  here.  Come,  Phoabe, 
—  Bim'lech,  what  ye  waitin'  fur  ?  Where  '11  she  set,  mother  ?  " 

"  She  can  set  in  Bim'lech's  place  ;  he  's  had  his  supper.  He 
was  so  hungry,  he  could  n't  wait ;  so  he  took  a  bowl  o'  bread-an'- 
milk  in  his  hand." 

"  I  did  n't  eat  enough  !     That  was  nothin'  but  a  luncheon." 

"  What !  that  great  bowl  o'  bread-an'-milk  ?  I  wonder  what 
your  stomach  is  made  of!  " 

"  Never  mind ;  let  him  come  to  the  table,  if  he  wants  to,"  said 
Mr.  Jackwood,  whose  heart  grew  big  and  warm  in  the  glow  of 
the  homely  old  kitchen.  "  There  's  plenty  o'  room.  Fix  him  a 
place,  Phoebe.  I  don't  see  the  need  of  anybody  's  starvin'  in  my 
house." 

Mrs.  Jackwood,  getting  a  plate  :  "  It 's  all  foolishness  eat'n'  two 
suppers,  —  one  jest  'fore  goin'  to  bed,  too ;  that 's  all  I  care 
about  it." 

3 


26  THE   FARM-HOUSE. 


"Bim  thinks  he  deserves  two  suppers,  for  bringing  home  sc 
many  fish  !  "  said  Phoebe. 

Abimelech,  ex  asperated  :  "  Make  her  stop,  father  I  should 
think  she  'd  said  enough  about  that !  " 

"  There,  there,  there,  children,  don't  quarrel !  What  makes  ye 
want  to  pester  him  so,  Phoebe  ?  You  should  n't  mind  it,  rny  son ; 
you  should  be  above  sich  things.  There  's  a  plate  for  ye ;  bring 
yer  chair  along.  Hush,  now." 

The  farmer  said  grace  in  the  stereotype  phrase  of  years ;  but 
an  allusion  to  the  wanderer  beneath  his  roof,  and  the  wind  and 
the  rain  without,  —  awkwardly  interpolated,  it  is  true,  yet  spoken 
with  simple  earnestness,  —  rendered  the  prayer  vital  and  touch- 
ing. 

"  Bim  kept  making  faces  at  me  all  the  time  you  was  asking  the 
blessing  !  "  said  Phoebe. 

"  Bira'lech,  did  you  do  that  'ere  ? "  asked  Mr.  Jackwood, 
solemnly. 

Abimelech,  with  an  air  of  innocence  :  "  No,  I  did  n't !  There 
was  a  'skeeter  buzzin'  'round  my  face,  an'  I  squinted  to  scare  him 
away,  that 's  all.  If  she  had  n't  ben  lookin'  she  would  n't  'a 
seen  me." 

Phcebe :  "  What  a  story  !  There  an't  a  mosquito  in  the 
house ! " 

"  That  '11  do  !  Don't  le'  me  hear  no  more  complaints.  We  've 
got  plain  fare,"  —  the  farmer  turned  to  his  guest,  —  "  but  it 's 
hulsome.  Here  's  good  ho'-made  bread,  an'  sweet  butter,  an' 
fresh  milk ;  some  dried  beef,  too,  if  ye  like ;  an'  mother  '11  give 
ye  a  good  stiff  cup  o'  tea,  to  raise  yer  sperrits.  Then  there  's  a 
pie  I  '11  ventur'  to  recommend,  bime-by." 

"  Mother  !  I  —  want  —  a  —  piece  —  of —  pie  !  " 

"  You  need  n't  whine  so  like  a  great  baby,  if  you  do !  You  may 
give  him  a  piece,  Phcebe." 

"  Phoeb'  need  n't  be  so  p'tic'lar  to  pick  out  the  smallest 
piece !  I  '11  have  two  pieces,  now,  see  if  I  don't !  May  n't 
t,  father?" 

"  Eat  that  fust,  then  we  '11  see." 

'•  I  want  some  cheese  with  it !     Come,  you  need  rj*  help  me. 


THE    FARM-HOUSE.  27 


Phoeb' !  Jest  pass  the  plate,  an'  le'  me  help  myself.  How  darnod 
generous  you  be  !  " 

"  Bim'lech  ! " 

"  What ! " 

Mr.  Jackwood,  severely :  "  Le'  me  hear  any  more  sich  talk  an' 
you  '11  go  right  away  from  the  table,  —  mind  now  !  " 

The  boy  muttered  something  in  self-defence,  with  his  n.outh 
full ;  but  his  father's  attention  was  at  that  moment  drawn  to  his 
guest.  For  some  time  she  had  been  vainly  endeavoring  to  eat. 
The  bounty  spread  before  her,  the  kindness  of  her  new  friends, 
and  the  thought  of  rest  and  shelter  while  the  storm  raged  without, 
filled  her  heart  to  suffocating  fulness  ;  and,  too  weak  to  control  her 
emotions,  but  instinctively  seeking  to  conceal  them,  she  attempted 
to  rise  from  the  table.  The  pallor  and  distress  of  her  features, 
and  the  strangeness  of  her  movements,  alarmed  the  farmer ;  but, 
before  he  could  speak,  a  sudden  dizziness  seized  her,  and  she  sank 
insensible  upon  the  floor. 

"  Marcy  !  "  exclaimed  Mrs.  Jackwood,  starting  from  the  table. 
"  I  believe  she  's  fainted  !  Hold  her,  father,  while  I  bring  the 
camfire  !  " 

In  her  agitation,  mistaking  the  loaf  of  bread  for  the  lamp,  she 
rushed  with  it  into  the  pantry,  and  began  to  search  in  the  dark 
for  the  camphor,  —  knocking  over  two  or  three  bottles  in  the 
operation,  and  laying  her  hand  on  the  right  one  at  the  precise 
moment  when  it  was  no  longer  needed. 

At  the  same  time,  Pbxcbe  hastened  to  pour  some  hot  water  out 
of  the  tea-kettle,  with  what  object  in  view,  she  was  never  very 
well  able  to  explain.  She  poured  it  into  the  cullender,  which 
happened  to  be  the  first  utensil  in  her  reach  ;  and  the  cullender, 
acting  like  a  sieve,  sprinkled  it  in  a  plentiful  shower  upon  her 
foot.  In  consequence  of  this  catastrophe,  she  was  nervously  occu- 
pied in  ascertaining  the  extent  of  her  bu-ns,  while  Mr.  Jackwood 
was  thus  left  alone  to  support  the  form  of  v.  'e  fainting  girl. 

"  A  cup  o'  water  !  "  he  cried,  lifting  her  to  the  chair.  "  Don't 
be  scart,  boy.  She  '11  come  to,  arter  a  little  sprinklin'.  Be 
quick  !  " 

Abimelech  heard  only  "  cup,  sprinkle,  quick,"  and,  actuated  by 


28  THE   FARM-HOUSE. 


the  same  benevolence  of  impulse  which  had  set  his  mother  rattling 
the  bottles,  and  his  sister  pouring  hot  water,  he  seized  the  milk 
cup  from  the  tea-tray,  and  spilled  its  contents  partly  in  the  strang- 
er's hair,  partly  in  her  left  ear. 

"  Not  that !  "  ejaculated  his  father.  "  Don't  you  know  noth- 
in'?  Water!" 

Thereupon  the  boy  caught  up  one  of  the  empty  miik-pails,  and, 
hastening  to  the  sink-room,  commenced  pumping  violently. 

By  this  time  the  swooning  girl  began  to  revive.  Indeed,  her 
consciousness  had  at  no  time  been  entirely  lost.  Her  soul  had 
seemed  sinking,  sinking,  like  a  candle  let  down  into  the  dark  of  a 
deep  well ;  and  in  a  still  place,  gleaming  with  a  faint  ray,  just  above 
the  waters  of  oblivion,  it  had  waited,  as  it  were,  to  be  drawn  up. 

Mr.  Jackwood's  care  was  now  to  wipe  away  the  milk  which 
streaked  her  hair,  and  cheek,  and  neck.  Accidentally  disarrang- 
ing her  dress  in  the  operation,  he  started  back  with  an  involuntary 
exclamation  of  pain  and  pity.  Her  full  throat  was  exposed,  and 
just  below  it,  in  startling  contrast  with  her  soft  and  gentle  beauty, 
appeared  a  sharp  cut,  as  of  a  pointed  blade.  The  wound  was 
evidently  not  so  new  but  it  might  have  been  partially  healed ; 
some  recent  hurt,  however,  —  perhaps  the  fall  from  the  chair, — 
had  opened  it  afresh,  and  now  a  fine  crimson  stream  was  traced 
upon  her  breast. 

With  a  quick,  instinctive  movement,  she  covered  the  wound 
from  sight. 

"  It 's  nothing ;  a  little  hurt,"  —  clasping  her  hand  over  her 
breast. 

Mr.  Jackwood  was  speechless  with  embarrassment ;  but  the  cry 
which  had  escaped  his  lips,  alarming  the  family,  brought  them 
simultaneously  to  his  relief.  Mrs.  Jackwood  appeared  with  her 
camphor-bottle,  shaking  it  up,  with  her  hand  over  the  nose ;  Phoebe 
ran  up,  with  a  shoe  in  one  hand  and  the  cullender  in  the  other ; 
while  Abimelech  stagf  j-ed  in  from  the  sink-room,  swinging  a  full 
pail  of  milky  water. 

"  There,  there,  mother !  "  cried  Mr.  Jackwood,  as  his  wife  began 
to  bathe  the  patient's  forehead ;  "  that  '11  do ;  it  '11  only  be  unpleas- 
ant to  her." 


THE   FARM-HOUSE.  29 


"  'T  won't  do  no  harm,"  replied  the  good  woman,  applying  the 
camphor  to  the  sufferer's  nose.  "  How  do  you  feel  now  ?  " 

"  Better,  —  quite  well,"  gasped  the  pool  girl,  pushing  the  bottle 
feebly  away. 

"  Lo"k  at  Bim  !  "  exclaimed  the  excited  Phoebe  "  What  arc 
you  going  to  do  with  that  water  ?  " 

"  Father  told  me  to  !  "  cried  Bim.  "  What  you  goin'  to  do  with 
the  cullender  ?  You  need  n't  say  nothin' !  " 

"  Open  yer  eyes,  if  it 's  as  convenient  as  not,"  suggested  Mr. 
Jackwood  ;  "I  want  tc-  see  how  you  look." 

The  stranger's  eyes  partly  opened,  but  closed  again  heavily. 

"  My  eyelids  are  stiff,"  she  said,  with  an  expression  of  pain. 

"  Put  some  butter  on  to  'em  —  that  '11  limber  'em,"  whispered 
the  boy,  hoarsely,  in  his  father's  ear.  "  Say,  shall  I  ?  " 

"  Grit  away  with  yer  nonsense  !  "  said  Mr.  Jackwood,  with  a 
threatening  gesture. 

Abimelech  recoiled,  and  sat  down,  with  a  startling  splash,  in  the 
pail  of  water  he  had  left  standing  on  the  floor. 

"  Now  what  ?  "  said  Mrs.  Jackwood,  sharply. 

"  Good  enough  for  him  !  "  exclaimed  Phoebe.  "  He  need  n't 
have  left  the  water  standing  right  there  in  the  way.  Now  bellow, 
great  baby  ! " 

Mr.  Jackwood  commanded  silence.  "  She  's  got  a  dre'ful  bad 
hurt  on  her  breast ! "  he  whispered  to  his  wife ;  "  an'  I  think  ;  he  'd 
better  have  suthin'  done  for  't." 

"  It 's  not  much,"  said  the  guest.  "  If  I  can  be  a  little  while 
alone —  " 

"  Take  her  into  your  room,  mother." 

Still  holding  her  hand  upon  her  breast,  the  sufferer  arose,  and, 
with  Mrs.  Jackwood's  assistance,  reached  the  adjoining  room. 
Becoming  faint  again,  she  sat  down,  and,  after  some  hesitation, 
suffered  the  good  woman  to  look  at  her  wound. 

"  Marcy  me,  if 't  an't  a  cut !  It  bleeds  a  stream  !  Poor  thing ! 
—  how  did  you  git  hurt  so  ?  " 

"  I  —  I  —  it  was  —  an  accident." 

"  It  looks  as  though  you  had  been  stabbed  with  a  knife !    Phoebe, 
bring  me  a  basin  o'  water,  an'  be  quick  !  " 
3* 


30  THE   FARM-HOUSE. 

"  Cold  water  ?  "  cried  Phoebe. 

•'  Pour  in  out  o'  the  tea-kittle  jest  enough  to  take  off  the  chill," 
said  her  mother.  "  Don't  be  all  night  about  it !  " 

Mrs.  Jackwood  hastened  to  a  tall  bureau  in  the  corner,  and  took 
from  it  some  linen  for  the  wound. 

"  What  did  ye  ever  have  done  for 't  ?  "  she  asked,  getting  down 
again  beside  the  guest. 

"  I  can't  tell,  —  not  much." 

"  Did  n't  you  never  have  no  healin'  plaster  on  't,  nor  nothin  ?  " 

She  moved  her  head  feebly,  with  a  negative  sign. 

"  I  want  to  know  !  Why  did  n't  ye  ?  Poor  child  !  you  must 
a'  suffered  from  it.  How  long  sence  't  was  hurt  ?  " 

41  0  dear  !  "  exclaimed  Phoebe,  in  dolorous  accents,  approaching 
behind  her  mother.  "  What  is  it  ?  Don't  it  most  kill  you  ?  "  — 
The  basin  began  to  tip  in  her  hands.  "  It  makes  me  dizzy  to  look 
at  it ! " 

"  What  are  ye  doin'  ? "  cried  her  mother,  looking  suddenly 
around,  in  her  kneeling  posture.  "  I  never !  if  you  an't  spillin 
^at  water  all  down  my  back  !  " 

"  I  could  n't  help  it.     I  come  perty  near  faintin' !  " 

"  Se'  down  the  basin,  and  go  out  and  shet  the  door.  Do  ye 
hear?" 

Phoebe  placed  the  basin  upon  a  chair,  and  reluctantly  with- 
drew 

Jj'aving  dressed  the  wound  according  to  her  own  ideas  of  such 
things,  Mrs.  Jackwood  returned  to  the  kitchen. 

"  How  is  she  ?  "  asked  Phoebe. 

"  She 's  jest  lopped  down  on  my  bed  for  a  little  while.  Finish 
yer  suppers,  childern ;  I  '11  'tend  to  her.  I  'm  goin'  to  have  her 
drink  a  strong  cup  o'  tea,  as  soon  as  she  gits  over  her  faint  spell. 
Poor  girl !  she  's  ever  so  much  to  be  pitied  !  " 

"  She  's  a  downright  perty-spoken  girl !  "  said  Mr.  Jackwood. 
1 1  don'  know  where  I  've  seen  sich  han'some  manners,  anywheres. 
You  better  tell  her,  mother,  't  seein'  to-morrer  's  Sunday,  she  might 
aa  well  make  up  her  mind  to  stop  over  with  us  till  Monday,  if  not 
longer." 

The  door  was  closed,  but  not  latched.     Charlotte  Woods,  as  she 


THE    FARM-HOUSE.  31 


lay  upon  the  bed,  in  the  darkened  room,  could  hear  all  that  was 
said ;  and  a  ray  of  almost  heavenly  rapture  stole,  thrilling  and 
soothing,  into  the  troubled  depths  of  her  soul.  All  this  time  the 
elements  raged  without,  —  the  rain  lashed  the  panes,  the  wind 
whistled,  the  lightning  winked  its  fiery  eye  ever  and  anon,  glaring 
into  the  chamber,  —  and  the  contrast  of  the  storm  with  the  peace 
and  comfort  she  had  found  with  her  new  friends  served  to  intensify 
all  the  pure  and  sweet  emotions  that  arose  in  her  grateful  heart. 
When  Mrs.  Jackwood  returned  to  her  she  found  her  weeping ; 
but  her  face  was  illumined,  and  her  eyes  glistened  with  a  tender 
light, 

Mr.  Jackwood  and  the  children  had,  in  the  mean  ti-ne,  retui-ned 
to  the  table ;  and  Phoebe  amused  herself  by  laughing  at  Abime- 
lech's  pail  of  water.  At  first  the  boy  retorted  ;  then  he  became 
unaccountably  silent,  pouting  over  his  pie ;  and  finally,  yielding 
to  an  irresistible  fit  of  drowsiness,  he  began  to  nod"  assent  to  all 
that  was  said.  The  unfinished  pie-crust  had  fallen  from  his  hand, 
and  his  lips  were  still  distended  with  the  last  mouthful,  when  his 
deep  breathing,  growing  deeper  still,  verged  upon  a  snore. 

"  What  ye  doin',  Phoebe  ?  "  demanded  Mr.  Jackwood. 

"  Only  tickling  his  nose  a  little,"  laughed  Phoebe,  mischiev- 
ously. 

At  that  moment  Abimelech  sneezed,  blowing  a  full  charge  of 
pie-crumbs  into  his  bosom.  Partially  awakened,  he  half  opened 
his  eyes,  but,  closing  them  again  immediately,  with  a  deep  sigh, 
he  rolled  over,  comfortably,  into  his  father's  lap. 

"Why  couldn't  ye  let  the  boy  alone  ?"  said  Mr.  Jackwood. 
"  Yon  're  always  up  to  some  nonsense  !  " 

"  It  does  me  good  to  plague  him.  That  sneeze  came  perty 
nigh  taking  his  head  off!  I  don't  suppose  he  'd  have  woke  up  if 
it  had." 

"  I  guess  he  'd  better  be  put  to  bed." 

"  I  beg  of  ye,  father,"  exclaimed  Mrs.  Jackwood,  "  don't  carry 
that  gre't  sleepy-head  up-stairs  in  your  arms !  He  should  be 
made  to  walk." 

"  What 's  the  use  o'  wakin'  him  when  he's  fast  asleep  ?  "  said 
the  farmer. 


12  THE   FARM-HOUSE. 


"  I  '11  carry  the  lamp,"  said  Mrs.  Jackwood,  —  "  if  you  will  be 
80  foolish  !  I  've  got  to  go  up  and  fix  a  bed  for  that  girl." 

Half  an  hour  later,  having  drank  the  tea  prepared  for  her,  and 
eaten  a  few  morsels  of  food,  Charlotte  Woods  took  leave  of  the 
parents,  who  bade  her  a  kind  and  cheerful  "good-night,"  and 
retired,  with  Phoebe,  to  her  chamber. 

The  young  girl  was  in  a  sociable  mood,  and  wished  to  talk , 
but  the  wanderer  was  too  weary  to  take  part  in  the  conversation. 
Her  head  had  scarce  touched  the  pillow,  before  she  was  asleep. 
But  she  started  strangely,  and  moaned,  and  sometimes  cried  aloud, 
in  the  trouble  of  her  dreams.  Phoebe  was  frightened,  and  awoke 
her. 

"  Where  am  I  ?  " 

The  storm  was  raging  again  ;  the  wind  blew,  the  rain  pattered 
on  the  roof,  the  thunder  rolled  in  the  sky. 

"  You  are  with  me,  —  don't  you  know  ?  " 

"  0,  yes  !  "  said  the  wanderer,  fervently. 

"  I  was  scart,  and  woke  you  up,"  rejoined  Phoebe.  "  You 
was  talking  in  your  sleep." 

"  Was  I  ?  —  Did  you  hear  ?  "  cried  the  other,  quickly.  "  What 
did  I  say?*' 

At  that  moment  a  vivid  flash,  illumining  the  chamber,  showed 
her  starting  up  with  pallid  looks,  one  arm  sunk  in  the  pillow,  and 
the  other  flung  across  the  covering  of  the  bed. 

"  I  could  n't  make  out  much,"  replied  Phoebe.  "  I  heard  you 
say,  '  Don't  !  it  will  kill  me  !  '  and  that 's  all  I  can  remember." 

"  Are  you  sure  ?  —  Tell  me  all  I  said  !  " 

Phoobe  could  recall  nothing  more ;  and  the  stranger  guest, 
recovering  from  her  alarm,  sank  again  upon  the  pillow,  and 
listened  to  the  rain  on  the  roof  until  she  was  once  more  asleep. 


IV. 

THE   SABBATH    MORNING. 

IT  was  day  when  the  wanderer  awoke.  Through  the  window- 
curtain,  which  looked  like  a  white  cotton  apron  tied  by  its  strings 
across  the  sash,  the  light  of  a  new  morning  streamed  into  the 
room. 

How  calm  and  cool  it  seemed  !  At  first  she  felt  that  she  could 
always  lie  there,  in  such  sweet  peace  and  languor,  and  gaze  upon 
that  light.  But  the  past  rushed  with  great  waves  upon  her  heart, 
and,  becoming  restless  with  anxious  thoughts,  she  arose  silently 
from  the  bed. 

She  resumed  the  faded  calico  gown  Mrs.  Jackwood's  kindness 
had  furnished ;  it  was  an  awkward  fit,  but  it  could  not  altogether 
conceal  the  symmetry  of  her  form.  Then,  standing  before  a  little 
looking-glass,  she  combed  out  her  thick,  black  hair,  and,  curling  it 
on  her  fingers,  looped  it  up  in  luxuriant  masses,  over  her  temples. 
This  done,  she  bathed  her  face  in  a  tin  basin,  with  water  from  a 
broken-nosed  pitcher,  and,  slipping  the  cotton  curtain  aside  upon 
its  string,  sat  down  by  the  window. 

The  storm  was  over ;  the  clouds  had  cleared  away ;  it  was  a 
beautiful  Sabbath  morning.  The  low  valley,  through  which 
wound  the  stream,  lay  white-robed  in  silvery  mists ;  but  all  the 
westera  range  of  mountains  was  flooded  with  the  sunrise. 

When  Phoebe  awoke,  and  saw  her  companion  sitting  there  with 
troubled  looks,  she  felt  that  she  ought  to  console  her. 

"  I  don't  believe  you  like  it  here  very  well ;  1  guess  you  're 
homesick." 

"  0,  I  do  like  it !     It  is  so  quiet,  so  peaceful,  here  !  " 

li  I  think  it  is  a  real  mean  old  house,"  responded  Phoebe.    "  If 


34  THE    SABBATH    MORNING. 


father  'd  build  a  new  one,  and  fit  it  up  in  style,  I  don't  know,  — 
but,  as  it  is,  I  'in  unhappy  as  I  can  be !  " 

•'  O>"  said  her  companion,  "  if  you  could  only  know  what  it  is 
to  be  without  a  home  —  " 

"  Father  tells  me  I  don't  know  how  to  appreciate  a  home.  But 
I  can't  help  it;  I  can't  be  contented  here." 

"  I  suppose,  then,"  said  Charlotte,  with  a  tender  smile,  "  y<u 
will  soon  think  of  changing  both  your  name  and  abode." 

"  I  won't  marry  a  farmer,  any  way  !  "  cried  Phoebe.  "  1  Ve 
always  said  that,  and  I  '11  stick  to  it,  if  I  live  an  old  maid !  " 

Her  pretty  face  and  bright  eyes  sparkled  with  animation ;  and, 
arising,  the  first  thing  she  did  was  to  look  in  the  glass,  and  read 
once  more  the  charming  tale  of  her  own  beauty. 

"  Father  says  he  bets  I  '11  go  through  the  woods  and  take  up 
with  a  crooked  stick,"  she  continued,  with  amusing  frankness. 
"I  don't  care,  —  I  could  have  my  pick  of  'most  any  of  tho 
young  fellows  about  here.  But  they  an't  much ;  they  are  'most  all 
farmers'  boys  ;  and  I  '11  have  a  merchant  or  a  lawyer,  if  anybody." 

"  Phoebe,"  called  Mrs.  Jackwood  at  the  foot  of  the  chamber- 
stairs, —  "an't  you  'most  ready  to  come  down?  You  needn't 
stay  up  there  all  day,  if  it  is  Sunday.  Let  her  lie  and  sleep,  if  she 
wants  to;  it  '11  do  her  good  to  rest." 

So  kind  an  allusion  to  herself  brought  the  tenderest  tearful 
light  to  the  wanderer's  eyes. 

"  You  need  n't  come  down  till  noon,  if  you  don't  want  to,"  said 
the  lively  Phoebe.  "  You  won't  care  to  go  to  meeting,  I  sup- 
pose." 

"  Hardly,"  said  Charlotte,  with  a  sad  smile.    f(  Shall  you  go?  " 

"  0,  yes ;  I  would  n't  stay  away  such  a  day  as  this,  I  tell  you  ! 
I  like  to  see  folks  when  I  'm  dressed  up  ;  it  is  silly,  perhaps,  but 
I  can't  help  it.  I  don't  care  for  the  preaching ;  we  Ve  got  a  real 
stupid  minister  —  I  don't  ought  to  say  so,  though,  I  suppose.  Are 
you  pious  ?  Do  you  care  for  what  I  say  ?  " 

Charlotte  knew  not  how  to  reply  to  such  queer  questions. 

"  Perhaps  you  belong  to  the  church,"  added  Phoebe,  blushing 
rosy  red ;  "  I  would  n't  like  to  hurt  your  feelings,  though  I  must 
say  I  'm  glad  7  douk  belong  to  it  !  Mother  has  urged  me  and 


THE   SABBATH    MORNING.  35 


urged  me  to  join  ;  she  's  had  the  minister  here  to  talk  to  me  hours 
at  a  stretch.  But  the  truth  of  it  is,  I  like  to  carry  on  too  well ; 
and  I  an't  going  to  settle  down  and  put  on  a  long  face,  and  be 
pious,  yet  a  while !  I  thought  I  experienced  religion,  one  time ; 
but  I  guess  it  didn't  amount  to  much ;  there  's  more  fun  in  me 
than  ever.  Well,  I  wish  I  was  good,"  —  more  seriously.  "  I 
know  I  ought  to  be  pious,  —  but  it  an't  in  me." 

Charlotte's  limbs  felt  weak  and  sore  ;  but  she  thought  it  would 
be  better  for  her  to  make  an  effort  to  move,  and  she  descended  the 
etairs  with  Phoebe.  They  reached  the  kitchen  just  as  Mr.  Jack- 
wood  was  going  out,  with  the  milk-pails  on  his  arm.  He  paused 
to  bid  her  good-morning ;  and  she  thanked  him  for  his  kindness 
with  so  much  tender  feeling  that  his  eyes  began  to  glisten. 

"  Wai,"  said  he,  winking,  "  make  yourself  to  home  ;  that  Ml 
suit  me  best  of  anything.  —  Come,  Bim'lech,"  turning  to  his  son, 
"  d'  ye  expect  I  'm  goin'  to  do  all  the  milkin'  in  futur',  'cause  I 
let  ye  off  last  night  ?  " 

"  I  'm  stiff  as  I  can  be,"  muttered  the  boy,  limping  from  the 
corner.  "  I  can't  straighten  out." 

"  This  comes  o'  goin'  a-fishin'.     Come,  1 11  limber  ye  up !  " 

Charlotte  was  anxious  to  render  Mrs.  Jackwood  some  assistance 
in  her  work.  At  the  same  time  she  confessed  her  ignorance  of 
kitchen  affairs. 

"  Wai,  I  guess  you  'd  be  about  as  much  bother  as  you  're 
wuth,"  said  Mrs.  Jackwood. 

"  I  might  soon  learn  to  do  something,  if  you  would  show  me." 

"  La,  sus,  I  can  let  ye  try,  if  that 's  all !  But  you  'd  larn 
more  to  look  on,  I  should  think.  There  's  so  many  little  chores, 
Sunday  morning,  I  can't  tell  myself  what 's  to  be  done  till  I  come 
to  V 

Charlotte  proved  unusually  intelligent  and  apt. 

"  There  's  some  sense  in  tryin'  to  larn  you  somethin',"  said 
Mrs.  Jackwood,  encouragingly.  "  I  'm  so  partic'lar,  't  gener'ly 
I  can't  bear  to  have  any  one  lift  a  finger  in  my  kitchen,  without 
it  's  Phoebe;  and  she  sometimes  tries  my  patience  a'most  to  death  ! 
As  for  them  gre't  awk'rd  Irish  girls,  —  the  slouchin'  critturs  !  —  I 
Wot 't  so  much  as  have  'cm  'round  !  " 


T1IE    JiAUUATlI    MURNINU. 


Thus  encouraged,  Charlotte  emptied  the  sour  milk  Mrs.  Jack- 
wood  was  skimming ;  helped  scald  the  pans ;  turned  the  pork 
that  was  frying  in  the  spider ;  and  assisted  Phoebe  to  set  the 
table. 

"  Wai,  you  're  about  the  handiest  girl  't  ever  I  see.  I  can't  say 
less  'n  that,  any  way.  I  wonder  you  never  did  house-work  before. 
You  take  to  't  nat'ral  as  ducks  to  the  water  !  Somu  folks  never 
can  see  into  't,  somehow ;  they  can't  so  much  as  wipe  the  dishes, 
say  nothin'  'bout  washin'  'em,  without  you  stand  over  'cm  every 
minute  o'  the  time,  an'  tell  'em  how.  You  've  no  idee  how  uar- 
vous  it  makes  me  feel !  " 

"  I  'in  afraid  I  should  draw  pretty  severely  on  your  patience, 
sometimes,"  said  Charlotte. 

"  'T  would  n't  be  to  be  wondered  at,  if  you  did.  The  best  miss 
it,  now  an'  then,  you  know.  And  I  have  n't  all  the  patience  I 
should  have,  or  might  have,  I  'm  sorry  to  say.  You  could  put 
up  with  a  little  frettin',  though,  I  guess ;  it 's  my  natur'  to  fret." 

"  Take  my  word  for  that !  "  laughed  Phoabe. 

"  You  need  't  say  that,  now  !  "  cried  her  mother.  "  I  don't  think 
I  'm  any  gre't  of  a  fretter,  I  'm  sure.  I  consider  I  'm  perty  tnl- 
er'ble  patient,  now  !  You  won't  find  many  women  that  '11  put  up 
with  what  I  have  to  put  up  with,  depend  upon  't.  Don't  say 
agin  I  'm  a  gre't  fretter,  if  you  know  what 's  good  tor  yourself!  " 

Presently,  Mr.  Jackwood  and  Abunelech  coming  in,  the  family 
sat  down  to  breakfast. 

"  You  don't  live  by  eatin',  I  see,"  the  farmer  said  to  his  guest. 
"  You  never  '11  do  for  a  farmer's  darter,  till  you  can  eat  pork  and 
johnny-cake." 

After  breakfast  Mr.  Jackwood  took  down  the  big  family  Bible 
from  the  mantel-piece,  and,  having  adjusted  a  pair  of  blackened 
steel-bowed  spectacles,  opened  it  on  his  knee.  At  the  same  time 
Ph(jebe  and  Abimelech  brought  out  their  Testaments  from  the  bed- 
room, and,  after  a  little  dispute  about  "  the  place,"  obeyed  their 
father,  who  enjoined  silence.  Mrs.  Jackwood  took  her  seat  by  the 
open  door,  where  she  could  keep  an  eye  on  the  poultry  before  the 
Rtoop,  and  flirt  her  apron  at  them  occasionally,  as  they  attempted 
to  invade  the  kitchen 


THE    SABBATH    MORNING.  37 


Scarce  had  the  farmer  begun  to  read,  when  a  gallant  youug 
turkey,  taking  advantage  of  Mrs.  Jackwood's  contemplative  mood, 
charged  past  her  apron,  and  made  a  hold  dash  at  the  crumbs 
under  the  table. 

"  Bim'lech !  do  help  me  git  this  critter  out !  We  must  have  a 
whip,  and  keep  it  for  these  nasty  turkeys !  " 

Bim,  with  warlike  resolution  :  "  Clear  the  track  !  " 

Mrs.  Jackwood  :  "  Don't  be  ha'sh,  my  son  !  Don't  throw  ycr 
book !  " 

She  spoke  too  late.  The  boy's  Testament  whizzed  by  the  cor- 
ner of  the  table,  and,  glancing  on  the  back  of  Phoebe's  chair,  flut- 
tered down  into  a  dish  of  grease  on  the  stove-hearth. 

"  Now  you  've  done  it !  "  cried  Phrebe. 

Mrs.  Jackwood,  quivering  :  "  I  've  as  good  a.  mind  to  box  your 
ears  as  ever  I  had  t'  eat !  " 

"  'Tan't  hurt  much,"  said  Abimelech,  grinning,  as  he  held  the 
Testament  up  by  the  leaves,  to  let  the  grease  drip  off. 

"  Every  Sunday  moruin',"  began  Mrs.  Jackwood,  "  reg'lar  as 
the  day  comes  'round,  that  'ere  grease-dish  has  to  come  out  o'  the 
suller-way,  an'  set  smutcheriri  on  the  stove,  till  the  shoes  are  all 
blacked  for  meetin' !  For  my  part,  I  'in  heartily  sick  on  't ;  an'  if 
I  could  had  my  way,  this  never  'd  a'  happened." 

"  Come,  come  !  don't  be  unreason'ble  mother,"  said  Mr.  Jack- 
wood.  "  Accidents  will  happen." 

"  Unreasonable  ?  If  you  'd  make  a  bizness  on  't,  you  could  set 
down  and  warm  the  dish,  an'  grease  yer  shoes,  an'  done  with  't,  all 
in  five  minutes'  time.  An'  here  that  thing  's  ben  'round  a  hull 
hour,  if  't  has  a  minute  !  Then  Bim'lech  had  to  fling  his  book  ! 
An'  now  he  's  lettin'  the  grease  drop  all  over  the  floor !  I  never 
see  the  beat !  There  !  " 

Mrs.  Jackwood  gave  vent  to  her  feelings  in  a  sharp  cuff  be- 
stowed on  Abimelech's  ear. 

Bim,  howling :   '•  Ow  —  w  —  w  —  w  !     Quit !  " 

"  Quit,  quit !  "  echoed  the  turkey,  darting  behind  the  stove. 

"  Don't  tell  me  to  quit ! "  exclaimed  Mrs.  Jackwood,  address- 
ing Bim  more  particularly,  "  you  sauce-box  !  " 
4 


38  THE   SABBATH   MORNING. 


In  terror  of  another  blow,  Bim  dropped  the  book  atd  dodged 
behind  Charlotte's  chair. 

"  Come,  let 's  have  peace,  this  holy  Sabbath  moruin' !  "  said  Mr. 
Jackwood.  "  Bim'lech,  take  yer  seat,  and  look  over  with  Phoebe  !  " 

Mrs.  Jackwood,  endeavoring  to  control  her  feelings,  but  still 
quivering  with  excitement,  stooped  to  pick  up  the  book. 

"  Grease  an'  all  on  this  clean  floor,  mopped  only  yist'day ! 
It 's  no  more  use  moppin'  an'  scourin'  in  this  house  than  —  Gi'  me 
a  knife,  Phoebe  !  " 

"  I  —  gracious  !  "  cried  Bim,  with  a  wild  look,  throwing  up  his 
hands  in  a  protective  attitude  about  his  ears. 

"  We  're  waitin'  mother,"  observed  Mr.  Jackwood,  quietly. 

"  You  '11  have  to  wait  till  I  scrape  up  a  little  of  this  grease, 
'fore  it 's  trod  all  over  the  house.  —  Where  's  that  turkey  ?  " 

"  He  's  out  o'  the  house,"  snarled  Bim,  "  an'  I  wish  I  was !  " 

"  Don't  talk  so,"  said  Mr.  Jackwood.  "  Remember,  there  's  a 
stranger  present.  Now,  if  you're  all  ready,  we  '11  read." 

Mrs.  Jackwood  resumed  her  station  in  the  door-way,  and,  set- 
ting the  broom  as  a  trap  to  be  sprung  upon  the  poultry,  composed 
herself  to  listen. 

"  Commence.  Bim'lech,"  said  the  fanner. 

Bim'lech,  sullenly  :  "  Han't  got  no  book  !  " 

"  I  told  ye  to  look  over  with  Phoebe.     Third  varse." 

Bim  mumbled  over  his  task,  as  if  merit  consisted  in  the  most 
rapid  and  indistinct  utterance  that  could  be  called  reading. 

"  Bim'lech,  read  that  'ere  last  varse  over  ag'in,  an'  try  to  take 
the  sense  on  't." 

"  Phoebe  won't  le'  me  look  on  !      She  holds  the  book  'way  off !  " 

"  Anybody  'd  think  you  wanted  to  eat  the  book  up!"  —  and 
Phoebe  mischievously  thrust  her  Testament  under  the  boy's  nose. 
"  Now  can  ye  see?  " 

"  Corne  !  — stop  !     I  swanny,  I  won't  read  another  word  !  " 

"  Take  holt  o'  that  book,  my  son,  an'  don't  le  's  have  any  more 
o'  yer  nonsense.  This  is  perty  work  for  Sunday  mornin' ! " 

Phoebe  giggling ;  Abimelech  pouting ;  Mr.  Jackwood  lookinj 
sternly  over  his  glasses  at  the  offenders ;  Charlotte  trying  to  bo 
serious,  i^ut  laughing,  with  her  sunny  eyes,  in  spite  of  herself. 


THE   SABBATH    MORNING.  39 


Mrs.  Jackwood  :  "  Shoo  !  shoo  !  "  —  flirting  her  apron  at  the 
turkeys.  "  Git  away  with  ye !  " 

At  length,  peace  restored,  the  reading  was  concluded,  —  an 
entire  chapter  of  the  Acts  having  been  dispensed  for  the  edifica- 
tion of  the  household  circle.  Haifa  chapter  was  the  usual  allow- 
ance ;  but  a  double  portion  was  adjudged  appropriate  for  Sunday, 
which  seemed  to  afford  more  time  for  such  devotions  than  week- 
days are  supposed  to  do. 

Having  made  a  few  remarks  on  the  text,  Mr.  Jackwood,  kneel- 
ing  over  the  Bible  in  his  chair,  prayed  with  a  certain  earnestness, 
which  bor«  up  Charlotte's  soul  on  wings  of  devotion.  But  the 
children's  hearts  were  untouched;  it  was  a  threadbare  prayer  to 
them :  although  kneeling  reverently,  they  occupied  themselves  in 
whispering,  pinching,  and  making  faces  at  each  other,  all  in  a 
quiet  way,  until  it  was  concluded.  Mrs.  Jackwood  was  suffi- 
ciently serious  for  the  occasion ;  yet  she  could  not  keep  her  eyes 
off  the  turkeys,  nor  refrain  from  shaking  her  skirts  at  them  when 
they  approached  the  door. 

The  morning  devotions  ended,  Mr.  Jackwood  got  out  his  shav- 
ing apparatus ;  raised  a  lather  which  made  his  face  look  like  a 
mighty  ice-cream ;  honed  his  razor ;  and,  perching  the  kitchen 
looking-glass  on  the  window-frame,  stood  before  it,  with  his  feet 
well  braced  for  the  operation,  and  proceeded  to  take  off  his 
"baird."  Mrs.  Jackwood  washed  the  dishes,  and  Charlotte 
wiped  them,  while  Phoebe  and  Abimelech  quarrelled  over  their 
Sunday-school  lesson,  which  they  were  pretending  to  study  together 
in  the  bed-room. 

Employment  diverted  Charlotte's  mind  ;  but  when  there  was 
nothing  more  for  her  to  do,  she  became  despondent.  In  vain  she 
endeavored  to  repay  the  kindness  of  her  friends  with  cheerful 
looks  and  words.  The  tears  would  start,  the  sighs  would  swell  up 
from  the  deep  well  of  trouble  in  her  breast. 

Mr.  Jackwood  felt  that  he  ought  to  say  something  to  comfort 
her.  "  You  an't  growin'  impatient,  an'  thinkin'  o'  leavin'  on  us, 
be  ye?"  he  cried,  coming  out  of  the  bed-room,  with  his  Sunday 
shirt  on.  '  "  Of  course  you  would  n't  wish  to  be  travellin'  on  the 
Sablath  ?  —  Here,  mother,"  turning  to  look  for  his  wife,  —  "  you  '11 
hava  to  button  my  rizbuns,  arter  all.  Where  bo  ye?" 


40  THE    riABlJATH    Mi>KNIN<». 


"  Let  me  button  them,  if  you  please,"  said  Charlotte. 

"  Them  don't  look  like  farmers'  wives'  hands,"  observed  Mr. 
Jnckwood,  submitting  the  wristbands ;  "  they  're  nimble  enough, 
though  ;  I  guess  they  might  be  made  useful,  don't  you  ?  " 

"  I  should  be  glad  to  make  them  so,  indeed  !  " 

"  Would  ye,  though  ?  There  's  chances  enough  for  that,  1 
should  think.  You  'd  want  some  lady-like  occupation,  though,  I 
g*pose." 

"  I  would  not  care  much  what  it  was,"  said  the  girl,  "  if  I 
could  see,  now  and  then,  a  kind  face !  " 

"  Wai,  wal !  "  —  cheeringly,  —  "  suthin'  '11  turn  up  if  you  put 
your  trust  in  Providence, — that's  sartin.  At  all  events,  we'll 
agree  to  keep  ye  till  there  does." 

"  Now,  father  !  "  remonstrated  Mrs.  Jackwood,  entering  at  that 
moment,  "  don't  make  no  rash  promises,  I  beseech  !  " 

"  0,"  said  their  guest,  quickly,  "  I  could  not  accept  your  kind- 
ness, if  I  would  !  I  ought,"  —  a  heavy  shade  of  trouble  darkened 
her  face,  —  "I  know  I  ought  to  go  —  perhaps  to-day  !  " 

"  Tut,  tut !  that 's  nonsense  ! "  returned  the  hospitable  fanner 
"  We  can  keep  ye  for  a  few  days,  jes'  's  well 's  not." 

"  Why  do  you,  father  ?  "  said  Mrs.  Jackwood,  aside.  "  I  've 
nothin'  agin  the  girl ;  an'  I  mus'  confess  she  's  about  the  handiest 
person,  for  one  t  han't  ben  thoroughly  drilled  in  housework,  't  ever 
I  sec.  But  we  don'  know  nothin'  who  she  is,  nor  where  she  come 
from,  nor  nothin'  'tall  about  her;  so  it  stan's  us  in  hand  to  be 
careful." 

Mr.  Jackwood  was  struck  with  the  force  of  the  observation. 
But,  turning  to  Charlotte,  and  looking  into  those  deep,  earnest 
eyes,  his  wife's  argument  melted  before  them  like  frost  in  the  sun 

"  Wal,  we  '11  talk  it  over  to-morrow.  But,  take  my  word 
for't,"  —  with  a  cheering  glance  at  his  guest,  —  " 't '11  all  turn 
out  right  in  the  end." 

In  a  little  while  Mr.  Jackwood  and  the  children  went  off  to 
meeting  in  the  one-horse  wagon,  driving  the  old  white  mare  —  an 
establishment  of  which  Phoebe,  to  use  her  own  expression,  was 
"  ashamed  as  she  could  be."  Charlotte  watched  until;  they  were 
out  of  sight,  and  still  sat  gazing  anxiously  from  the  window,  while 
Mrs.  Jackwood  finished  the  Sunday  mornin"  "chores." 


THE    SABBATH    MORNING.  41 


"  I  'm  tired,"  at  length  said  the  farmer's  wife,  "  an'  1  'm  goin' 
to  lop  down  a  few  minutes  on  the  bed.  You  can  come  in  an'  set 
by  me,  if  ye  like." 

The  truth  is,  Mrs.  Jackwood  wished  to  keep  an  eye  on  Char 
lotte.  "Appearances  are  desaitful,"  she  reasoned,  "an'  there's 
no  knowin'  what  may  happen!"  With  this  view,  she  took  a 
newspaper,  to  keep  herself  awake  when  conversation  failed. 

"  I  declare  !  "  she  exclaimed,  suddenly,  as  she  read,  "  what  a 
strange  thing  that  was  happened  the  other  day !  Have  you  heard 
about  it  ?  " 

She  read  a  few  paragraphs,  while  the  other  listened   oreath- 


"  There  's  more  about  it,  in  fine  print ;  but  that  'pears  to  be  the 
substance.  Had  n't  you  heard  nothin'  of  it  ?  " 

"I  —  I  believe  I  heard  some  men  talking  about  it,  yesterday," 
faltered  Charlotte  ;  "  but  I  did  n't  know  where  it  happened.  How 
far  is  the  place  from  here  ?  " 

"  I  don't  know  ;  it 's  out  in  York  State  somewheres." 

Charlotte  breathed  again,  passing  her  hand  across  her  pallid 
face.  At  the  same  time  Mrs.  Jackwood,  although  fully  deter- 
mined not  to  fall  asleep,  closed  her  eyes,  letting  the  newspaper 
sink  gradually  upon  the  bed.  Having  favored  the  first  advances 
of  an  insidious  temptation,  and  turned  her  face  towards  the  sweet 
garden  of  sleep,  she  ended,  as  mortals  are  prone  to  do,  by  yield- 
ing a  second  step,  and  then  a  third,  until,  with  the  very  best  resolu- 
tions in  the  world,  she  passed  the  gate  of  slumber,  and  sank  down 
upon  a  deep  poppy-bed,  where  a  troop  of  mischievous  sprites, 
called  dreams,  seized  her,  and  transported  her  into  the  inmost 
recesses  of  the  enchanted  garden. 

Then  Charlotte,  with  stealthy  hand,  took  up  the  paper,  and 
glanced  hurriedly  over  the  columns.  Finding  the  place  where 
Mrs.  Jackwood  had  been  reading,  she  went  over,  with  burning 
interest,  the  portions  that  had  been  omitted ;  then  laying  down 
the  paper,  without  awakening  the  good  woman,  she  glided 
noiselessly  from  the  room. 


V. 

HECTOR. 

THE  evening  was  soft  and  warm.  The  sky  spread  calm  and 
starry  above  the  sultry  city.  The  houses  were  thrown  open  to 
catch  the  breath  of  a  light  south  wind  that  blew  gently  up  the 
bay.  Many  of  the  inhabitants  were  in  the  streets,  sitting  before 
their  doors,  or  strolling  up  and  down  ;  while  upon  the  river  the 
negro  bargemen  sang  their  wild  and  plaintive  melodies,  in  the 
moonlight  that  shone  over  the  water. 

At  ten  o'clock,  two  young  men  landed  from  a  pleasure-boat, 
and  walked  arm-in-arm  into  the  town. 

"  Here  we  are  again,"  said  one,  pointing  with  his  cane.  "  It  is 
on  this  corner  we  met.  Well,  we  have  had  a  pleasant  sail,  and  I 
have  you  to  thank  for  it." 

"  I  stifle,"  returned  the  other,  "  in  these  close  streets.  When  I 
look  up  at  the  stars,  I  would  fly  !  How  cool,  how  far-off,  how 
pure,  they  are  !  " 

"  You  are  homesick,  Hector." 

"  No,  Joseph,  —  but  a  little  heart-sick  !  Life  seems  so  rotten 
here,  my  hands  feel  slimy  with  it,  and  I  reach  up  instinctively, 
as  if  to  wash  them  in  the  light  of  the  stars.  What  is  the  great 
end  of  existence,  Joseph  ?  " 

"  Upon  my  word,"  cried  Joseph,  "  I  don't  know ! " 

"  You  have  lived  too  long  in  this  contagious  atmosphere  of 
vice !  "  rejoined  Hector.  "  There  is  danger  here  of  forgetting 
what  the  word  existence  means.  Do  you  not  often  start,  and  cry 
out,  « Is  this  humanity  ?  am  I  a  part  of  it  ?  who  are  we  ?  what 
are  we  ?  why  do  we  exist  ?  '  " 

"  When  I  dwell  upon  such  things,"  answered  Joseph,  "  I  hava 
the  blue  devils  horridly  !  " 


HECTOR.  43 


"  The  thought  haunts  me  continually.  It  tyrannizes  over  me 
like  conscience.  Night  and  day,  wherever  I  go,  whatever  I 
see  or  do,  the  inexorable  voice  whispers,  '  To  what  end  is  it 
all  ? ' " 

"  Will  you  tell  me  what  you  live  for  ?  " 

"  I  live  for  LOVE  !  "  exclaimed  Hector. 

"  You  !  "  laughed  his  companion.  "  Do  you  know  that,  with 
all  the  ladies  of  my  acquaintance,  you  have  the  reputation  of 
being  the  coldest  and  most  indifferent  mortal  in  the  world  ?  " 

"  With  the  ladies  of  your  acquaintance  !  "  repeated  the  other, 
significantly.  "  I  like  the  compliment !  But,  let  me  tell  you, 
there  is  an  ocean  of  love  palpitating  and  throbbing  in  that  heart 
they  find  so  cold.  It  waits  for  a  possessor." 

"  Which  you  will  never  find  !  " 

"  In  truth,  I  do  not  expect  it.  I  take  leave  of  southern  society 
in  a  few  days  ;  I  go  home  to  my  native  Vermont,  to  spend  a  soli- 
tary summer  among  the  mountains.  There  is  nothing  for  me  there 
but  thought  and  study.  And  as  for  Mobile,  I  have  had  strange 
experiences  here  ;  I  have  learned  something  of  woman's  heart,  in 
spite  of  my  coldness ;  but  it  is  all  in  the  past,  thank  heaven !  and 
nothing  will  ever  allure  me  here  again." 

"  You  are  right !  "  said  Joseph,  thoughtfully.  "  I  wish  I  was 
going  with  you.  Rob  Greenwich  is  up  that  way  somewhere,  is 
he  not  ?  " 

"  Where  Rob  Greenwich  is,  it 's  not  easy  to  say.  He  goes 
where  passion  leads  him,  —  not  like  you  and  me,  dear  Joseph  !  " 
said  Hector,  ironically.  "  But,  if  you  ask  where  his  home  is,  I 
can  tell  you.  It 's  in  the  village  of  Huntersford,  about  a  mile 
and  a  half  from  my  father's  house.  I  will  show  it  you  when  you 
come  to  visit  me  this  summer." 

"  I  ?  —  That 's  out  of  the  question,  unless  I  marry  a  rich  wife, 
and  go  north  for  a  wedding  tour." 

"  Well,  do  that,  and  you  shall  have  a  double  welcome." 

"  If  I  had  your  opportunities,"  said  Joseph,  "  perhaps  I  might. 
My  friendship  will  never  forgive  you  for  not  marrying  Helen. 
She  is  rnh,  beautiful,  and  charming;  more  than  all,  she  loves 
you  —  " 


44  HECTOR. 


"  A  woman,"  cried  Hector,  "  who  holds  human  property ;  who 
must  have  her  slaves  to  wait  upon  her ;  who  would  not  give  them 
up  even  for  me  !  Judge  how  well  she  loves  me  !  But  we  will 
not  discuss  that  question.  Take  her,  if  you  can  get  her,  black 
servants  and  all.  And  now  good-night.  You  have  an  engage- 
ment, and  are  anxious  to  get  rid  of  me." 

"  True,"  said  Joseph,  "  I  have  a  call  to  make  ;  but  —  " 

"  No  compliments.     We  part  here.      Joseph,  be  worthy  of  the 


Leaving  his  friend  to  proceed  alone,  Hector  turned  a  corner, 
and  walked,  with  folded  arms,  along  a  street  brilliant  with  lighted 
saloons.  The  doors  of  these  places  were  thrown  open,  pouring 
floods  of  yellow  light  upon  the  street,  and  exposing  all  the  allure- 
ments of  dissipation  within,  from  the  well-furnished  bar  to  the  gay 
and  voluptuous  pictures  that  adorned  the  walls. 

Into  one  of  these,  led  by  the  same  habit  of  observing  human 
nature  which  had  prompted  his  visit  to  the  south,  Hector  Dun- 
bury  strolled  abstractedly.  It  was  a  celebrated  saloon,  called  the 
"  Revolver,"  either  in  honor  of  the  weapon  so  named,  or  in  conse- 
quence of  a  certain  rotary  motion  with  which  the  brains  of  its 
patrons  were  apt  to  become  familiar.  The  sign  above  the  door 
favored  both  these  ideas,  —  showing  on  one  side  the  device  of  a 
huge  six-shooting  pistol,  and  on  the  other  that  of  a  jolly  gentle- 
man reeling  under  the  weight  of  one  glass  of  liquor  in  his  hand, 
and  several  more  in  his  head. 

Within,  conversation,  music,  and  dancing,  together  with  the  fine 
arts,  or  rather  the  coarse  arts,  added  their  charms  to  the  attrac- 
tion of  the  bar.  The  music  was  by  an  itinerant  performer,  who 
exercised  a  feeble  violin,  with  an  accompaniment  of  bells  which 
he  jingled  with  one  foot,  a  triangle  which  he  sounded  from  time 
to  time  with  the  other,  and  a  pair  of  cymbals  played  between  his 
knees.  The  dancing  was  by  two  artists,  a  male  and  a  female. 
The  one,  a  cotton-dealer,  of  "  respectable  "  standing  in  southern 
society,  carried  away  by  the  enthusiasm  of  over-strong  potations, 
had  volunteered  a  double  pigeon-wing,  in  a  style  that  would  have 
somewhat  astonished  his  mercantile  connections  in  New  York  and 
Boston.  The  female  was  no  other  than  a  learned  duck,  had  ir 


HECTOR.  45 


charge  by  a  ragged  urchin,  the  fiddler's  companion,  who  excited 
her  to  a  noble  emulation  of  the  cotton-dealer's  extraordinary 
performance. 

At  the  bar,  Hector  called  for  a  glass  of  lemonade. 

"  No  fire  in  it  for  me  !  "  he  exclaimed,  as  the  bar-tender  was 
about  to  dash  some  brandy  into  the  tumbler. 

"  Lemonade  ? "  echoed  a  dark,  bearded  individual,  on  his 
left,  inclining  over  the  bar.  "  The  same  for  me  —  with  a 
good  deal  of  the  extra.  In  short,  make  it  a  punch.  And  you, 
Dickson  ?  " 

"Yes,  doctor,  if  you  please,"  said  a  third  customer,  thickly. 

"  If  I  please  ?  "  cried  the  doctor.     "  What 's  the  matter  ?  " 

"  Nothing,"  replied  Dickson,  "  only  I  'm  conside'bly  'fected  by 
the  music." 

"  Do  ye  call  that  music  ?  "  cried  his  companion.  "  I  '11  make 
better  with  a  saw-file  and  a  pair  of  tongs  !  " 

"  Recollect,"  said  the  bar-tender,  "  that,  six  weeks  ago,  that  man 
had  never  seen  a  fiddle." 

"  He  plays  well,  for  six  weeks  !  "  observed  Dickson,  with  drunk- 
en gravity. 

"  You  swallow  such  a  story  as  that  in  your  liquor  !  "  retorted 
the  doctor.  "  I  'm  ashamed  of  you  !  " 

And  he  playfully  thrust  his  friend's  hat  over  his  features,  like 
an  extinguisher. 

"  I  said,"  gasped  Dickson,  struggling  out  of  his  hat,  and 
looking  up  with  a  ludicrous  expression  of  bewilderment,  "  I 
said  —  where  is  what  I  said  ?  I  dropped  it  as  a  candid  re- 
mark," —  and  he  looked  about  him  as  if  expecting  to  find  it 
on  the  counter,  or  on  the  floor.  "  Who  knocked  my  hat  over 
my  eyes  ?  " 

"  'T  was  the  lemonade  gentleman,  I  reckon,"  replied  the  doctor. 
"  He  appears  anxious  to  apologize.  As  for  your  marvellous  fid- 
dler," —  and  he  turned  his  back,  while  Dickson  staggered  fiercely 
upon  Hector. 

"  0,  as  for  him,"  said  the  bar-tender,  "  I  can  prove  that  he  had 
never  seen  a  fiddle  six  weeks  ago.  Perhaps  you  'd  like  to  tako 
a  bet." 


46  HECTOR. 


"  Well,  I  reckon  !  "  cried  the  doctor.  "  I  '11  go  the  drinks  foi 
the  company." 

"  All  right !  "  returned  the  other.     "  The  man  is  blind  !  " 

"  Sold,  by  Jove  !  "  shouted  the  doctor,  flinging  his  hat  acros& 
the  room. 

At  that  moment  a  thickly-articulated  cry  for  help  was  heard  ; 
the  doctor  recognized  his  own  name,  and  the  voice  of  a  friend.  It 
was  Dickson,  whose  drunken  attack  upon  Hector  had  proved  some- 
thing of  a  failure,  and  who  now,  in  consequence,  lay  in  a  disagree- 
able heap  under  the  table,  where  he  was  trying  to  open  the  wall, 
mistaking  it  for  the  door. 

Meanwhile,  Hector  had  taken  his  seat  in  the  corner,  with  his 
lemonade  before  him.  Declining  the  doctor's  invitation  to  the 
bar,  he  sat  looking  on,  with  a  listless  expression,  while  the  rest 
of  the  company  celebrated  the  bet.  The  blind  man  was  led  up 
by  the  ragged  urchin,  who  grinned  over  his  gin-and-sugar  with 
the  men  at  the  bar,  and  smacked  his  lips  afterwards,  as  if  he 
loved  it. 

The  company  then,  becoming  hilarious,  formed  a  ring  to  observe 
the  duck  dance.  Among  other  amusing  feats  the  wonderful  biped 
performed,  was  that  of  recognizing  the  medical  faculty,  and  salut- 
ing them  in  the  crowd.  Her  sagacity  in  that  respect  was  fairly 
tested,  the  betting  doctor  being  the  subject.  Stopping  before 
him,  in  her  waddling  rounds,  she  uttered  the  characteristic 
cry,— 

"  Quack  !  quack  !  " 

A  shout  of  exultation  from  the  spectators.  The  doctor,  excited, 
offered  to  wager  that  the  experiment  would  npt  succeed  a  second 
time.  The  bet  taken,  he  changed  his  position ;  and  once  more 
the  duck,  waddling  about  the  floor  to  the  blind  fiddler's  music, 
stopped  suddenly,  and,  bobbing  her  head  up  and  down,  politely 
saluted  the  doctor. 

"  Quack  !  quack  !  quack  !  " 

The  applause  was  tremendous.  Some  drunken  fellows  foil 
down  upon  the  floor,  and  rolled  and  roared.  The  doctor's  eyes 
dashed. 

"  Who  says  that 's  true  ?  " 


HECTOR.  47 


Dickson,  who  had  by  this  time  crept  from  under  the  table,  mut- 
tering revenge,  indicated  Hector  with  his  tipsy  fist.  The  doctoi 
marched  up  to  the  young  man,  in  a  blustering  way,  and  demanded 
an  apology. 

Hector  sipped  his  lemonade  coolly,  but  made  no  reply. 

"  Do  you  know  who  I  am  ?  "  hissed  the  doctor. 

"  No,"  replied  Hector,  "  unless  I  am  to  take  the  duck's  word." 

"  You  are  a  liar ! "  articulated  the  doctor,  with  choking 
passion. . 

The  next  instant,  the  contents  of  Hector's  glass  were  streaming 
from  his  brows,  and  eyes,  and  beard  ;  and  Hector  stood  upon  his 
feet,  pale,  but  firm,  grasping  the  empty  tumbler  in  his  hand. 

As  the  doctor  staggered  back  from  the  shock,  his  hand  instinct- 
ively found  its  way  to  his  bosom,  where  it  came  in  contact  with 
the  handle  of  a  pistol.  He  drew  it,  and  levelled  it  at  Hector. 
But  quick  as  thought  it  flew  to  the  ceiling,  struck  up  by  a  swift 
blow  from  his  adversary's  hand. 

At  this  juncture,  the  courageous  Dickson  made  a  sally  in  favor 
of  his  ally,  with  a  chair  upon  his  head.  Hector  leaped  aside,  and 
the  blow  intended  for  him  fell  upon  the  crown  of  the  dancing 
cotton-dealer.  At  the  same  time,  the  doctor  rushed  forward  with 
a  brandished  knife. 

"  Take  care  !  "  cried  Hector,  stepping  back. 

There  was  something  in  his  tone  and  look  which  betokened  a 
roused  and  dangerous  spirit.  The  doctor  might  have  been  warned ; 
but  his  passion  blinded  him,  and,  with  an  oath,  showing  his  firm- 
set,  glittering  teeth,  under  his  curled  moustache,  he  aimed  a  blow 
at  the  young  man's  breast.  On  the  instant,  the  empty  glass, 
which  was  Hector's  only  weapon,  was  shivered  in  the  face  of  his 
antagonist ;  who,  stunned  and  gashed,  dropped  upon  one  knee, 
letting  fall  his  weapon,  and  supporting  himself  with  his  hand  upon 
the  floor. 

Hector  was  unhurt ;  and,  the  moment  he  saw  his  adversary 
down,  he  sprang  to  raise  him  up,  and  helped  him  to  a  chair. 

"  Dickson  !  "  cried  out  the  doctor,  in  accents  of  pain  and  rage, 
endeavoring  to  wipe  the  blood  from  his  eyes  ;  "by !  Dick- 


18  HECTOR. 


A  violent  tumult  had  arisen  in  the  saloon.  Dickson  was  in  the 
midst  of  it,  and  unable  to  render  his  friend  any  assistance. 

"  0, furies  !  "  articulated  the  doctor.  "  Lives  shall  pay 

for  this !  " 

"  We  will  talk  of  that,"  said  Hector.  "  But  first  let  me  look 
to  your  wound.  I  sought  no  quarrel ;  but  it  is  my  way  to  defend 
myself." 

The  doctor  was  not  dangerously  hurt.  His  brow  was  cut,  and 
the  blinding  blood  that  streamed  down  into  his  eyes  rendered  him 
incapable  of  offering  any  opposition.  Hector  removed  the  frag- 
ments of  glass  from  the  wound,  and  tied  his  own  handkerchief 
about  it,  to  staunch  the  blood. 

By  this  time,  the  police  having  been  alarmed,  five  or  six  drunken 
officials,  with  badges  upon  their  hats  and  bricks  in  them,  reeled 
into  the  saloon,  swaggering  and  swearing. 

The  ragged  urchin,  the  duck,  and  the  blind  fiddler,  were  the 
first  offenders  seized.  This  was  natural,  they  being  not  only 
quite  innocent,  but  incapable  of  resistance.  The  police  next  laid 
hands  upon  the  cotton-dealer,  who,  discomfited,  sat  in  Turkish 
fashion  upon  his  'supple  legs,  in  a  corner,  looking  hazily  about 
him,  as  if  vainly  endeavoring  to  comprehend  what  was  going  on. 
After  him,  the  pugnacious  Dickson,  laid  away  once  more  under 
his  favorite  table,  and  fighting  heavily  with  his  enemies,  dis- 
guised as  table-legs,  was  dragged  out  by  the  heels,  and  placed 
under  arrest. 

The  police,  however,  took  good  care  to  avoid  meddling  with 
such  persons  as  swore  terribly  and  flourished  weapons.  With 
them  discretion  was  not  only  the  better  part  of  valor,  but  tho 
ffhole  of  justice.  Hector,  therefore,  who  exercised  neither  pistols 
nor  profanity,  bid  fair  to  become  the  next  victim.  He  stood, 
with  calm  dignity,  confronting  the  officers,  when  a  demonstra- 
tion on  the  part  of  the  doctor  caused  a  diversion  in  another 
direction. 

The  latter  had  been  some  moments  on  his  feet,  looking  about 
him  savagely  from  beneath  his  bandaged  brows,  for  his  bowie- 
knife,  which  Hector  had  kicked  under  the  chair ;  and,  now  per- 
jeiving  it,  he  clutched  it  fiercely,  and  rushed  upon  his  late  antng- 


HECTOR.  49 


onist.  Hector's  back  was  towards  him  ;  and  the  armed  hand  waa 
already  raised  to  smite  him,  when  a  policeman,  seizing  the  oppor- 
tunity, stepped  behind  the  assailant,  and  felled  him  to  the  floor. 
Hector  was  untouched ;  and  while  the  officers  rushed  upon  the 
doctor  to  secure  his  weapons  and  bind  his  hands,  the  young  man, 
taking  quite  an  unceremonious  leave  of  the  company,  walked 
quietly  and  quickly  out  at  the  door. 

"  0,  corruption  !  0,  death  !  "  he  exclaimed,  in  accents  of 
loathing,  as  he  fled  from  the  spot.  He  shook  the  dust  from  his 
feet ;  and,  perceiving  a  fountain  running  in  the  street,  stooped 
instinctively  to  wash  his  hands.  When  he  would  have  wiped 
them,  he  remembered  that  he  had  bound  his  handkerchief  upon 
his  adversary's  head. 

"  It  is  well !  "  said  he.  "  I  have  left  my  garment  with 
them ! " 

The  tumult  in  the  saloon  partially  subsiding,  the  bar-tender 
managed,  by  shouting,  to  make  himself  heard.  The  officers 
showed  a  liberal  disposition  to  listen  to  the  man,  whose  liquor 
they  drank  much  oftener  than  they  paid  for  it ;  and  on  his  rep- 
resentations, the  cotton-dealer  —  a  valuable  customer  —  was  set 
at  liberty  before  he  had  become  fully  conscious  of  his  arrest. 
Dickson  and  the  other  prisoners  were  released  at  the  same 
time ;  excepting  the  doctor  alone,  reserved  as  a  sacrifice  to 
public  justice. 

"  Do  what  ye  please  with  me,"  muttered  the  latter,  as  one  of 
the  officers  put  on  his  hat  for  him  over  his  bandaged  brows. 
"  I  've  only  one  suggestion  to  make.  Le  's  liquor  !  " 

The  police  sympathizing  with  this  generous  sentiment,  their 
feelings  were  so  much  softened,  that  they  at  once  proceeded  to 
undo  his  hands,  to  afford  him  the  gratification  of  paying  for  the 
treat  out  of  his  own  pocket.  This  done,  he  swallowed  a  potent 
comforter  for  his  griefs,  in  the  form  of  a  glass  of  fiery  spirits, 
and  set  out  to  accompany  an  officer  to  the  watch-house. 

Stopping  occasionally  to  refresh  themselves  by  the  way,  always 
at  the  doctor's  expense,  officer  and  prisoner  alike  forgot  their 
relative  positions  and  their  original  destination.  The  docx>r 


50  HECTOR. 


talked  desperately  of  revenge ;  and  so  far  enlisted  the  sympa- 
thies of  his  guide,  that  the  latter  not  only  promised  to  nssi.st 
him  in  ascertaining  Hector's  name  and  address,  but,  arrived  at 
a  street-corner,  he  restored  his  weapons,  and  shook  hands  with 
him,  swearing  an  eternal  friendship,  and  bidding  him  an  affecting 
good-night. 

Then,  while  the  faithful  guardian  of  the  town  moved  off  unstead- 
ily, bent  on  still  further  exploits  in  behalf  of  the  public  peace,  the 
doctor,  examining  his  pistol  and  muttering  by  the  way,  sought 
the  calm  precincts  of  domestic  peace,  where  his  affectionate  wife 
awaited  his  return. 


VI. 

GRANDMOTHER   RIGGLESTY. 

A  RHEUMATIC  old  lady,  in  a  brown  bonnet  and  a  faded  bomba- 
zine dress,  with  a  fussy  shawl  about  her  neck,  arrived  at  the 
Excelsior  House  in  the  afternoon  stage.  Alighting  with  difficulty, 
with  her  arms  full  of  bundles,  she  gathered  herself  up  on  the  step, 
sneezed  twice,  and  scrutinized  the  crowd  of  loungers  with  an 
inquisitive  scowl. 

"  Is  anybody  here  knows  Bim'lech  Jackwood  ?  "  she  inquired, 
wrapping  the  fussy  shawl  more  closely  about  her  neck.  "  An'  has 
anybody  seen  him,  this  arternoon  ?  " 

Everybody  appeared  to  know  Mr.  Abimelech  Jackwood,  but 
nobody  appeared  to  have  seen  him  that  afternoon. 

"  It 's  the  strangest  thing  !  Here  I  wrote  to  Bim'lech's  folks 

more  'n  a  week  ago There,  Mister  —  you  driver  !  I  knowed 

that  ban'box  would  git  jammed,  an'  I  tolled  ye  so.  It's  so 
strange,  folks  can't  be  a  little  mite  keerful !  Don't  tear  that 
trunk  all  to,  pieces  now,  gitt'n  on  't  down  !  I  wish  you  'd  hand 
me  that  pa'cel  I  dropped  'fore  it  gits  trod  on.  —  That 's  the  wust 
stage  !  I  shan't  git  over  it  in  my  j'ints  —  I  do'no'  when  !  " 

"  Supper,  ma'am  ?  " 

"  No,  I  guess  not ;  I  've  got  some  lunch  in  my  bag.  I  s'pose," 
—  the  old  lady  smiled  persuasively,  —  "  if  Bim'lech's  folks  don't 
come  perty  soon,  you  can  jestgi'  me  a  cup  o'  tea  in  my  hand,  can't 
ye,  without  much  charge  ?  I  don't  keer  for  milk  an'  sugar." 

She  sat  down  on  her  baggage,  while,  at  her  request,  the  land- 
lord sent  across  the  way,  and  ascertained  that  a  letter,  post- 
marked Sawney  Hook,  and  addressed  to  Abimelech  Jackwood,  had 
ain  in  the  post-office  several  days. 


52  GRANDMOTHER   RIQQLESTY. 


"  And  it 's  there  yit !  "  exclaimed  the  old  lady.  "  Did  ever 
anything  in  this  world  happen  jest  like  that !  Send  a  letter  to  say 
you  're  comin'  —  pay  the  postage  on  't,  too  —  I  'm  provoked  !  You 
don'  know  nobody  't  's  goin'  right  by  Bim'lech's,  do  ye,  't  I  oao 
ride  with  's  well  's  not  ?  I  don't  re'ly  feel  's  tho'  't  I  could 
afford  to  hire  a  wagon  a-puppus." 

It  chanced  that  one  of  Mr.  Jackwood's  neighbors  was  about 
starling  for  home,  and  could  carry  her  directly  to  his  house. 
But,  on  being  introduced,  the  neighbor  said,  evasively,  that  he  had 
come  to  the  village  on  a  "  buck-board,"  and  could  not,  conveni- 
ently, carry  so  much  baggage. 

"  I  '11  leave  the  bulk  on  't  for  Bim'lech,  then,  an'  take  jest  these 
'ere  bundles  in  rny  lap.  I  wonder  who  it  was  invented  buck- 
boards,  —  spring-boards,  they  call  'em  to  Sawney  Hook.  I  never 
could  like  'em.  Jest  a  long  teeterin'  board,  from  the  fore  ex  to 
the  hind  ex,  with  nothin'  but  a  seat  in  the  middle,  —  not  a  bit  of 
a  box,  nor  no  nothin'  but  the  fills  an'  wheels  !  " 

Unsocial  neighbor  :  "  You  're  not  obliged  to  ride  on  one." 

"  0,  I  don't  find  no  fault,  no  way !  I  look  upon  't  as  a  lucky 
chance!"  —  in  a  conciliatory  tone.  "Bim'lech  Jackwood  is  a 
son-in-law  of  mine.  His  wife,  Betsy  Rigglesty  that  was,  is  my 
darter.  Don't  ye  think  I  can  take  this  ban'box  along,  an'  hold  it 
'tween  our  feet?  I  'm  'most  afraid  to  leave  it.  —  O,  wait  a  minute, 
sir  !  my  umbrel' !  I  shall  want  it  to  keep  the  wind  off  'm  my  neck, 
ridin'.  Landlord,"  whispering  mysteriously,  "  see  here  a  minute  ! 
Is  that  'ere  a  drinkin'  man  ?  He  's  very  red-faced,  an'  I  am  sartin 
I  smelt  his  breath." 

"  He 's  an  Englishman,"  said  the  landlord,  "  but  a  perfect 
gentleman,  you  '11  find  him." 

"  It  can't  be  Mr.  Dunbury,  can  it  ?  Laws  sakes  !  I  should  n't 
'a  knowed  him,  —  tho',  to  tell  the  truth,  I  never  see  him  more  'n 
two  times  't  I  know  on.  I  wish  you  'd  jest  tuck  my  shawl  up 
around  my  bunnit  a  little,  so  the  wind  shan't  strike  to  my  back. 
Now,  if  you  '11  hand  me  this  'ere  bag  arter  I  git  into  that  hateful 
spring-board  —  " 

A  minute  later,  with  her  bundles  in  her  lap,  and  her  faded  blue 
cotton  umbrella,  of  huge  dimensions,  spread  over  her  left  shoulder, 


GRANDMOTHER    RIGGLESTT.  53 


the  old  lady  might  have  been  seen  riding  along  the  village  road 
with  the  unsocial  neighbor. 

"This  is  Mr.  Duubury,  I  believe?"  —  talking  loud,  to  make 
herself  heard  under  the  umbrella. 

The  unsocial  neighbor  heartily  wished,  just  then,  that  it  was  n't 
Mr.  Dunbury.  Although  a  man  of  fallen  fortunes,  much  of  the 
naughty  Englishman's  pride  —  now  grown  sensitive  and  sore  — 
adhered  to  him  in  his  depressed  condition ;  and  he  experienced  a 
sort  of  inward  fury  at  the 'thought  that  he,  a  Dunbury,  should 
ever  be  placed  in  so  ridiculous  a  position.  He  acknowledged  his 
identity,  however,  in  a  forbidding  growl. 

"  Mebby  ye  don't  remember  me  ?  "  shouted  the  old  lady  undei 
her  fortification.  "  I  ben  up  here  to  visit  my  relations  three 
times  in  my  life ;  an'  I  recollect  the  Dunburys.  How  's  Mis' 
Dunbury  ?  Does  she  have  the  spine  now  ?  or  was  it  Mis'  Wing 
had  a  spine  in  her  back  ?  I  'most  forgit.  There  !  I  declare 
for 't !  " 

The  old  lady,  struggling  to  arrange  her  umbrella,  so  as  to  defend 
herself  at  all  points  from  the  fresh  air,  sadly  to  the  annoyance 
of  the  irritable  Englishman,  whose  face  and  eyes  were  endangered, 
had  brought  affairs  to  a  pleasant  crisis,  by  quietly  knocking  off  his 
hat. 

"  Le'  me  git  off  'n  git  it,"  she  proposed.  "  Shan't  I  ?  If 
you  '11  jest  hold  my  umbrel'  an'  bundles  —  " 

"  Sit  still !  "  muttered  her  companion,  jumping  to  the  ground. 

There  were  plenty  of  spectators  to  witness  his  discomfiture ;  and, 
to  make  matters  as  bad  as  possible,  the  old  lady  raised  her  voice 
to  a  shrill  pitch,  as  he  went  back  to  recover  his  property. 

"You  see,  if 't  had  been  anything  but  a  spring-board,  —  if 
there  'd  been  any  sort  or  kind  of  a  box  to  the  wagon,  —  your  hat 
would  'a  fell  into  it,  an'  you  would  n't  had  to  git  out." 

The  neighbor  made  no  reply,  but,  taking  his  property  out  of  the 
dirt,  with  flushed  dignity,  put  it  upon  his  head,  stalked  back  to  the 
vehicle,  and  drove  on  in  silent  rage.  As  he  did  not  speak  again, 
until,  arrived  at  Mr.  Jackwood's  house,  he  made  haste  to  set  her 
down  at  the  gate,  she  considered  herself  shamefully  treated. 

"  I  much  obi  eeged  for  your  very  kind  politeness!  "  she  remarked, 


54  GRANDMOTHER    RIGGLESTY. 


with  grisly  sarcasm.  "  Had 't  I  better  pay  ye  suthin'  for  yer 
trouble  ?  " 

The  Englishman's  sense  of  the  humorous  getting  the  better  of  hia 
mortification,  he  told  her  gravely  that  he  would  consider  fourpence 
a  fair  compensation. 

"  I  declare,"  she  stammered,  looking  blank  and  perplexed,  "  I 
hardly  expected  ye  'd  make  a  charge  on  't  —  but  I  'm  sure,"  —  she 
fumbled  in  her  purse,  —  "  if  three  cents  would  be  an  object.  —  Git 
out !  you  nasty  thing !  "  —  to  Rover,  who  ran  out,  barking,  and 
leaped  upon  her  dress.  —  "Strange  to  me  people  will  keep  a 
yelpin'  cur !  " 

Mr.  Dunbury  drove  away  whilst  she  was  still  fumbling  for  the 
change. 

"  Good  riddance  !  "  she  muttered ;  "  I  should  have  begrudged 
him  the  fust  cent ;  for  he  's  a  drinkin'  man,  and  I  'd  know  't  would 
go  straight  for  liquor.  Is  this  Phoebe  ?  " 

"  You  're  my  gran 'mother  Rigglesty,  an't  you  ?  "  cried  the 
delighted  Phoebe,  springing  to  kiss  her  venerable  relation. 

"  My  sakes !  how  you  have  growed,  child !  "  A  smile  thawed 
the  old  lady's  hard  visage  a  little  on  the  surface,  like  spring  sun- 
shine on  frozen  ground.  "  How  'a  mother  an'  Bim'lech? — Git 
out,  you  sir !  "  —  to  Rover,  with  a  kick,  —  "  tearin'  that  'ere 
ban'box  to  pieces  !  There  !  " 

"  Ki-yi !  ki-yi !  "  yelped  the  dog. 

"  Pups  is  the  hatefulest  critturs !  an'  I  detest  a  yaller  pup 
above  all !  Take  in  that  'ere  ban'box,  dear.  That  grouty  Eng- 
lishman had  to  throw  it  right  down  by  the  gate,  as  if  't  wan't 
nothin'  more  'n  a  chunk.  He  's  the  sourest,  disagreeable-est  man  ! 
Phaugh  !  "  —  with  a  gesture  of  disgust, —  "how  his  breath 
smelt !  " 

"  Why  did  n't  ye  write  to  let  us  know  you  was  comin'  ?  "  cried 
Mrs.  Jackwood.  "  You  thought  you  'd  take  us  by  surprise,  hey  ?  " 

"  Why  did  n't  I  write  ?  "  echoed  the  old  lady.  "  Don't  none  o' 
your  folks  ever  go  to  the  post-office,  I  wonder  ?  Bim'lech  waa 
allus  jes  so  slack,  and  allus  will  be,  to  the  day  of  his  death,  fu  's 
I  know  !  I  wrote  you  a  week  ago  yis'day,  an'  the  letter  's  in  the 
office  up  here  now." 


GRANDMOTHER  RIGGLESTY.  55 


"  Mother,  let  Bim  go  right  down  and  get  it,"  cried  the  moi 
tified  Phoebe. 

"  It  '11  do  a  sight  o'  good  to  send  for  't  now  !  Bim'lech  may 
tackle  up  an'  go  for  my  things,  though,  as  soon  as  ye  please.  Do 
shet  the  door  arter  ye  ! "  to  Phoebe,  who  ran  out  to  call  her  father. 
"  I  'm  in  a  perty  state  to  set  in  a  draft  of  air  !  You  '11  have  to 
larn  to  shet  doors  arter  ye,  if  I  stay  here." 

Seated  in  the  rocking-chair,  in  the  kitchen,  the  old  lady  took  an 
unfinished  stocking  from  her  bag,  and  began  to  knit  industriously. 
Presently  she  paused,  ceased  rocking,  closed  her  eyes  and  opened 
her  mouth,  scowling  and  drawing  in  her  breath,  as  if  to  provoke  a 
sneeze.  Having  succeeded  in  getting  off  a  powerful  double  stern- 
utation, she  hastened  to  huddle  herself  into  the  corner,  looking 
peevishly  about  the  room. 

"  I  'm  ketchin'  cold,  sure  as  this  world !  I  ben  feelin'  a  draft 
on  my  neck  ever  sence  I  sot  down ;  but  I  could  n't  tell,  for  the 
life  o'  me,  where  't  come  from.  I  allus  tolled  Bim'lech  this  was 
the  wust,  wind-leakiest  house  't  could  possibly  be  contrived ;  but 
there 's  never  ben  the  fust  thought  o'  repairs  done  on  't,  I  warrant, 
senee  I  was  here  :  Bim'lech 's  so  shif'liss  !  " 

Mrs.  Jackwood :  "  0,  wal,  mother,  we  have  to  git  along  the 
best  we  can,  ye  know.  We  can't  afford  extravagance." 

Old  lady :  "  But  you  might  be  decent  and  comftable,  't  all 
events.  Bim'lech  was  allus  fussin'  'bout  suthin'  't  wan't  o'  no 
arthly  kind  o'  use,  while  things  't  ought  to  be  'tended  to  all  went 
to  loose  ends.  If  you  was  right  smart,  and  had  your  say  'bout 
things  as  you  'd  ought  to  have,  things  'u'd  look  a  little  different 
round  here,  I  tell  ye  !  " 

These  remarks  were  interrupted  by  Phoebe  and  Bim,  who  camo 

running  a  race  to  the  house,  followed,  more  soberly,  by  their  father. 

"  Dear  me !  how  rude  ye  be,  childern ! "  cried  the  old  lady, 

with  a  painful  contortion  efface.     "  You  're  enough  to  take  one's 

head  off!" 

"  Pheeb  tickled  my  back,  through  the  hole  in' my  shirt,  with  a 
darned  old  pigweed  !  "  cried  Bim ;  "  and  I  'm  goin'  to  pay  her  !  " 
"  0  !  what  a  voice !  "  ejaculated  the  old  lady,  with  a  tortured 
expression.     "  It  goes  through  me  jest  like  a  knife  !  " 


66  GRANDMOTHER   RIGGLESTY. 


"  Bim'lech,  this  is  your  gran'mother,"  said  Mrs.  Jackwood 

"  I  know  it,"  replied  Bim,  showing  his  teeth  with  a  good- 
natured  grin. 

'  Why  don't  you  speak  to  her,  an'  not  be  so  boisterous  ?  " 

"  I  d'n'  know  what  to  say,"  said  the  boy,  lowering  his  voice, 
and  looking  sheepish. 

"  Can't  ye  gi'  me  a  sweet  kiss,  now  ?  "  asked  the  old  lady,  lay- 
ing her  knitting  on  her  lap  ;  "  Phrebe  did." 

Abimelech,  giggling  :  "  I  do'  wanter!  " 

Old  lady:  "You  d'n'  know  what  I  got  for  ye  in  my.chist. 
Mebby  it 's  a  jack-knife,  now,  —  who  knows  ?  " 

The  boy  was  almost  persuaded ;  but,  somehow,  he  could  not 
discover  anywhere  on  the  old  lady's  face  a  spot  smooth  enough  to 
kiss,  except  the  tip  of  her  nose ;  so  he  concluded  not  to  indulge. 
He  afterwards  had  no  occasion  to  regret  his  self-denial,  the  re- 
puted jack-knife  in  the  old  lady's  chest  turning  out  to  be  a 
complete  hoax. 

Old  lady,  resentfully  :  "  Wai,  you  're  a  notty  boy,  —  an'  notty 
boys  don't  git  no  presents.  —  How  do  you  do,  Bun'lech  ?  "  reach- 
ing out  her  hand  to  Mr.  Jackwood. 

Mr.  Jackwood  greeted  her  heartily;  and  how  was  she  herself? 

"0,  I  an't  a  bit  well,"  —  releasing  his  hand  immediately,  and 
resuming  her  knitting.  "  An'  more  'n  all  that  I  never  expect  to 
be.  My  constitution 's  all  broke  to  pieces.  I  've  a  dre'ful 
rheumatiz.  An'  what 's  wus  'n  all,  there  's  nobody  in  this 
world  't  has  the  least  mite  o'  charity  for  me,  or  pity  on  my  suf- 
ferin's." 

Taking  from  her  bag  a  cotton  handkerchief,  embellished  with  a 
print  of  the  Good  Samaritan,  she  wiped  her  eyes  on  it,  and  put  it 
back  again.  Then,  observing  that  everybody  was  very  much  dis- 
tressed, she  assumed  an  air  of  grim  satisfaction  over  her  knit- 
ting. 

"Wai,  wal,  gran'mother,"  said  Mr.  Jackwood,  sympathetically, 
"  you  '11  have  your  reward ;  if  not  here,  herearter." 

"I've  giv'  up  expectin'  anything  in  this  life,"  she  whimpered, 
pulling  out  the  Good  Samaritan  again.  "  Here  I  've  slaved  an' 
slaved,  all  my  days,  an'  brought  up  a  large  family  of  childern,  an' 


GRANDMOTHER    RIGGLESTY.  57 


edicated  'em  well  as  cliildern  ever  need  to  be  edicated,  an'  gin 
'em  all  a  good  settin'  out  when  they  got  married  —  an'  that 's  all 
the  thanks  I  git  for 't !  " 

"  0,  no,  no,  mother ! "  cried  Mr.  Jackwood,  cneerily. 

The  old  lady  pursued  her  knitting,  while  the  tears  ran  ostenta 
tiously  down  her  cheeks. 

"  I  han't  a  child  in  the  world,  but  that  wishes  me  out  o'  the 
way,  —  for  I  an't  nothin'  but  a  burden  now  to  nobody !  " 

Mrs.  Jackwood  :  "  Don't,  mother,  talk  so,  an'  give  way  to  your 
feelin's ! " 

Old  lady :  "  0.  wal,  if  I  distress  people,  I  s'pose  I  mus'  n't. 
It 's  the  duty  of  ol'  people  to  give  up,  when  they  've  wore  them- 
selves out  in  doin'  for  their  childern ;  it 's  a  sin  to  speak  on  't,  or 
complain.  0,  wal,"  — drying  her  eyes  on  the  Good  Samaritan, — 
"  I  '11  be  more  keerful  in  futur'." 

Finding  the  scene  too  painful,  Mr.  Jackwood  went  out  to  har- 
ness the  horse,  in  order  to  go  for  the  old  lady's  baggage. 

"  I  'm  real  sorry  she  's  come  here  to  stop,"  said  Bim.  "  We 
can't  have  no  fun  while  she 's  around." 

Mr.  Jackwood  :  "  Hush  up  !  You  mus'  n't  talk  so.  It 's  your 
duty  to  love  her,  an'  make  things  pleasant  for  her." 

Abimelech  :  "  How  can  a  feller  ?  —  Say,  Pheeb  !  "  —  to  his 
sister,  who  ran  out  to  speak  for  some  "  best  green  tea  "  from  the 
grocery,  for  the  old  lady's  use  —  "  how  do  you  like  her?  " 

Phoebe,  in  a  disappointed  tone  :  "  I  was  in  hopes  she  'd  be  real 
good  and  cosey  !  I  could  done  anything  for  her,  if  she  was  like 
Bertha  Wing's  gran'mother  —  but  I  don't  like  her  a  bit;  so, 
there !  " 

"  Tut,  tut !  "  said  Mr.  Jackwood. 

The  old  lady  had  by  this  time  discovered  a  strange  face  through 
the  half-open  door  of  the  adjoining  room. 

"  Who  is  that  crittur  ?  "  she  demanded.  "  What 's  her  name  ? 
What  's  she  here  for  ?  " 

"  Her  name  is  Charlotte  Woods,"  whispered  Mrs.  Jackwoodj 
closing  the  door.  "  She  was  travelling  an'  lost  her  way,  somehow 
M"hen  father  found  her  and  brought  her  home." 

"  Fiddle-stick's  oend  !     That 's  jest  like  you  V  Bim'lech,  now 


58  GRANDMOTHER   RIGGLESTY. 


to  take  in  every  straggler  comes  along  !  Do  you  know  anything 
about  her  ?  " 

Mrs.  Jackwood  only  knew  that  Charlotte  had  proved  herself 
honest,  and  "  willin'  to  do."  Besides,  she  appeared  to  have  under- 
gone so  many  trials  and  hardships,  that  they  —  the  Jackwoods, 
not  the  trials  and  hardships  —  were  "  re'ly  gittin'  quite  attached 
to  her." 

"  Hum-drum  !  "  ejaculated  grandmother  Rigglesty.  "  Them  'g 
your  notions !  Bring  the  crittur'  out  here,  and  le'  me  look  at  her !  " 

Charlotte  had  been  found  to  possess  a  skill  in  ornamental  nee- 
dle-work ;  and  she  was  now  busily  engaged  on  some  nice  sewing 
for  Phoebe,  which,  in  her  ardor  to  do  something  to  gratify  her 
friends,  she  was  unwilling  to  leave  until  finished ;  but,  on  being 
informed  of  the  old  lady's  desire  for  an  introduction,  she  put  her 
work  aside,  and  arose  to  accompany  Mrs.  Jackwood. 

"  You  must  be  prepared  to  put  up  with  her  odd  notions.  You  '11 
do  that  for  my  sake." 

"  What  would  I  not  do  for  your  sake?"  said  Charlotte.  "  You 
have  been  so  kind  to  me  !  " 

"  0,  wal,  I  mean  to  do  as  I  'd  be  done  by,"  replied  Mrs.  Jack- 
wood,  with  suffused  features.  "  The  best  miss  it  sometimes ;  I 
know  I  do ;  —  an'  we  must  have  charity  one  for  another.  I  hope 
you  '11  have  charity  for  her ;  she  's  got  well  along  in  years,  an' 
there  's  no  denyin'  but  she  'a  had  a  many  things  to  try  her.  Le' 
me  take  your  work  along :  that  '11  please  her." 

Charlotte  herself,  one  would  have  thought,  must  please  the 
most  fastidious  of  grandmothers.  Mrs.  Rigglesty,  however,  re- 
garded her  only  with  a  scrutinizing  scowl.  The  girl's  counte- 
nance fell  :  a  phenomenon  the  old  lady  construed  at  once  into  a 
demonstration  of  guilt.  Then  she  asked  a  number  of  sharp,  hard 
questions,  which  Charlotte  could  not  answer  witnout  embarrass- 
ment: another  indication  that  she  was  a  deceitful  character. 
Phoebe  thought  to  give  matters  a  pleasant  turn,  by  calling  atten- 
tion to  the  needle-work. 

"  Heugh  !  "  grunted  the  old  lady ;  "  that 's  a  fine  way  to  waste 
one's  time!  Time's  money;  did  ye  know  it,  child?  Say!  did 
ye  ki  ow  it  ?  "  —  with  a  disagreeable  look  at  Charlotte. 


GRANDMOTHER   RIGGLESTY.  59 


"  It  is  sometimes  better  than  money,  I  think,"  replied  Char- 
lotte. 

"  Better  'n  money  ?  "  echoed  grandmother  Rigglesty.  You 
would  have  thought  her  some  amazed  and  indignant  female  in- 
quisitor, examining  a  fair  heretic.  "  Better  'n  money  ?  What 
on  'arth  d'  ye  mean  by  that  ?  " 

The  timid  girl  shrank  from  making  any  reply ;  but,  being 
pressed,  she  drew  herself  up,  with  a  grace  and  dignity  which  de- 
lighted Phoebe,  and  answered,  modestly,  that,  while  she  thought 
time  should  not  be  wasted,  she  deemed  it  too  precious  to  be  coined 
up,  every  hour  and  minute,  into  gold. 

"  And  what  would  ye  do  with  't?  Le'  me  look  !  "  The  old 
lady  snatched  the  collar  from  Phoebe's  hand.  "  0,  I  see  !  "  —  sar- 
castically. "  This  is  very  fancical  1  But  what  does  the  Scriptur's 
say  'bout  vanities  ?  You  'd  better  'nough  on  't  be  to  work  on 
suthin'  useful." 

Charlotte  had  no  word  to  offer;  but,  with  a  swelling  heart  and 
quivering  lip,  she  took  her  work,  and  quietly  withdrew. 

"  You  may  depend  on 't,"  exclaimed  the  old  lady,  "  she 's  a 
dangerous  person  to  have  round.  4!  should  a'  had  my  suspicions 
on  her,  see  her  where  I  would.  That  guilty  look  —  that  guilty 
look  !  "  —  with  a  grimace.  "  Don't  tell  me  'bout  that  gal's  hon- 
esty ! " 

"  I  think  she  's  a  perfect  beauty !  "  cried  Phoebe. 

"  Beauty,  skin  deep  !  "  sneered  grandmother  Iligglesty.  "  Gals 
of  her  character  gene'lly  have  'nough  o'  that.  But,  if  your  mother 
knows  what  is  good  for  you,  miss,  she  '11  send  the  crittur'  away 
from  here,  mighty  quick  !  " 

"  Mother  won't  send  her  away —  I  don't  believe  !  "  said  Phoebe, 
in  an  under-tone. 

"What's  that?"  demanded  the  old  lady.  "Don't  handle 
them  dishes  so  keerliss ;  you  '11  break  'cm,  next  you  know !  — 
What 's  that  you  're  muttcrin'?  " 

"I'll  handle  the  dishes  just  as  carelessly  as  I  please !"  de- 
clared Phoebe,  in  the  same  indistinct  utterance. 

"  You  want  me  to  train  ye  a  little  while,  miss  !  I  'd  larn  ye 
to  mutter  when  you  're  spoke  to !  " 


60  GRANDMOTHER    BIUOLESTY. 


Mrs.  Jackwood  :  "  Phoebe  !  " 

Phoebe,  pouting  :  "  I  don't  care  !  I  'd  take  Charlotte's  part, 
if  all  the  world  was  ag'inst  her  !  " 

Old  lady,  whimpering  :  "  Wai,  wal !  I  expect  sich  treatment, 
an'  I  mast  put  up  with  't !  I  see  I  an't  wanted  here  !  "  —  more 
tears,  and  the  Good  Samaritan  again  ;  —  "  my  own  darter's  dar- 
ter sasses  me  to  my  face  !  Wal,  wal !  I  'in  an  ol'  woman,  an' 
't  an't  no  matter  !  " 

Mrs.  Jackwood  reproved  Phoebe  severely;  and  the  girl  herself, 
touched  with  compunctions,  declared  that  she  did  not  intend  to 
hurt  anybody's  feeling?,  and  asked  to  be  forgiven.  This  was  a 
triumph,  upon  the  strength  of  which  the  old  lady  and  the  Good 
Samaritan  enjoyed  a  most  confidential  and  tearful  season,  until 
Mr.  Jackwood  and  Bim  entered  with  the  baggage,  and  the  family 
sat  down  to  supper. 

At  the  table,  Mrs.  Rigglesty  manifested  a  healthful  resentment 
of  insults,  by  refusing  to  accept  any  food  at  tire  hands  of  the 
unforgiven  Phoebe,  and  waiting,  with  an  injured  expression,  to  be 
served  by  either  Mr.  Jackwood  or  Betsy.  To  add  still  further  to 
the  general  comfort,  she  significantly  hitched  her  chair  away  from 
Charlotte's,  and  gathered  up  the  skirts  of  her  bombazine  with  vir- 
tuous care,  as  if  to  avoid  all  contact  or  compromise  with  so  ques- 
tionable a  pei-fton. 

It  was  the  first  time  Charlotte  had  been  present  at  an  unsocial 
meal  in  Mr.  Jackwood's  house.  Her  heart  was  full ;  she  could 
not  eat  for  already  she  saw  that  her  Bvil  genius  —  if  such  things 
are  —  had  reappeared,  after  a  brief  respite,  in  the  form  of  a  grim 
old  grandmother,  who  would  not  rest  until  she  was  once  more 
driven  forth  into  the  shelterless  and  stormy  wastes  of  life. 


"  What  a  -queer  dream  I  had  !  "  said  Phoebe,  as  she  awoke,  on 
the  following  morning.  "  I  thought  gran'mothcr  was  an  ele- 
phunt,  with^a  long  stocking  over  her  nose  for  a  trunk,  and  Bun 
ro'le  into  meeting  on  her  back  !  Was  n't  it  funny  1 " 

Charlotte  smiled  wearily. 

"Why,  what's  the  matter?  ITow  pale  you  look!  Are  you 
sick  ?  " 


GRANDMOTHER    RIGGLESTY.  61 


"No,"  replied  Charlotte;  "but  I  have  not  slept  well." 

"  It 's  all  owing  to  granny  —  I  dou't  care  if  I  do  call  her 
granny  !  "  exclaimed  Phoebe.  "  But  you  need  n't  let  her  worry 
you  a  bit.  What  if  she  did  say  she  was  going  to  stay  here  all 
summer  ?  I  '11  fix  it  so  'st  she  won't  want  to  stop  a  week.  I  '11 
do  everything  I  can  to  plague  her !  " 

"  No,  no,  Phoebe,"  answered  Charlotte.  "  Be  kind  to  her,  — • 
and  I  will  endeavor  to  be  patient,  —  and  perhaps  all  will  be 
well." 

Even  while  she  spoke,  that  vague  presentiment  of  coming 
trouble,  which  had  gathered  like  a  cloud  over  her  heart,  dark- 
ened more  and  more,  and  she  could  see  no  light  beyond. 

They  had  grandmother  Rigglesty  again  for  breakfast. 

"  0  dear !  "  sighed  the  old  lady,  declining  into  the  rocking- 
chair,  "I  don't  think  I  shall  burden  anybody  much  longer! 
Them  that 's  so  anxious  to  git  red  o'  me  '11  have  their  wish  soon 
enough,  at  this  rate.  Jest  look  at  my  tongue,  Betsy ;  did  ye  ever 
see  sich  a  tongue,  in  all  your  life?  I  had  a  dreadful  nightmare, 
last  night.  Did  n't  anybody  hear  me  groan?  Wai,  it 's  a  blessin' 
to  sleep  sound,  'specially  when  an  oF  person  like  me,  that  an't  o' 
no  arthly  'count  to  nobody,  is  in  distress.  'T  would  n't  be  wuth 
while  to  disturb  young  folks,  though  it  might  save  my  life  jest  to 
pull  my  little  finger,  when  I  have  them  horrid  nightmares,  Wai, 
it  is  to  be  expected  't  every  smooth-spoken  crittur  't  comes  along," 
—  turning  her  back  to  Charlotte,  —  "  will  have  attention  paid 
'em,  while  a  poor  ol'  body,  that 's  slaved  the  life  out  of  her  for  her 
childern, —  wal,  no  matter  !  " 

Observing  that  her  complaints  had  produced  their  legitimate 
effect,  in  making  all  around  her  unhappy,  Mrs.  Rigglesty  found  it 
necessary  to  send  to  the  spare  bed-room  for  the  Good  Samaritan, 
whom  she  had  left  rolled  up  under  her  pillow.  That  ancient 
comforter  being  brought,  she  communed  with  him  over  her  plate, 
until  everybody's  appetite  appeared  reduced  to  the  same  low  con- 
dition with  her  own.  Rallying  a  little  at  this,  she  made  a  feeble 
attempt  upon  the  breakfast,  but  declared  that  even  the  tea  had  "a 
disagreeable  taste. 

"  0,  wal,  I  may  as  well  give  up  eatin'  entirely.     Folks  don't 


62  GRANDMOTHER   RIGGLESTY. 


have  sich  hulsome  victuals,  now-dajs,  as  they  use'  to.     Every 
thing  turns  my  stomach." 

As  she  sat  back  in  her  chair,  sighing,  and  stirring  her  tea  with 
a  desolate  expression,  Phoebe  left  the  table,  and  stood  pouting  at 
the  kitchen  door. 

"  I  can't  have  that  air  blowin'  on  to  me  ! "  cried  Mrs.  R'g- 
glesty.  "  My  shawl  is  off  my  shoulders,  too  !  I  'in  all  over 
aches,  a'  ready,  from  the  sole  o'  my  head  to  the  crown  o'  my  foot ! 
Sich  a  pain  all  through  the  back  o'  my  neck  as  I  woke  up  with  this 
niornin' !  nobody  can  never  know  nothin'  't  all  'bout  it !  I  can 
twist  iny  head  so,"  —  she  turned  it  towards  her  right  shoulder,  — 
"  but,"  —  turning  it  in  the  same  way  towards  her  left,  —  "I  can't 
twist  it  so,  for  the  life  o'  me.  An'  every  time  I  move  it  I  have  to 
scream  right  out,  as  if  you  'd  cut  me  with  a  knife  !  Ou  !  " 

Thereupon  Bim  laughed  till  he  choked,  and  rushed  headlong 
from  the  table,  with  the  milk  he  had  been  drinking  running  out 
of  his  nose. 

Thus  a  change  comes  over  Mr.  Jackwood's  house. 

Charlotte  is  not  the  only  sufferer,  though  the  greatest.  From 
the  elder  Jackwood  down  to  the  hopeful  Bim,  all  are  subject  to 
the  sway  of  the  despotic  grandmother.  With  the  Good  Samari- 
tan for  her  prime  minister,  she  reigns  supreme,  —  her  knitting- 
work  her  sceptre,  the  rocking-chair  her  throne.  Phoebe  dares 
but  whisper  sedition,  while  not  even  Bim  has  courage  openly  to 
rebel. 

Grandmother  Rigglesty  has  early  declared  her  intention  to 
revolutionize  things  a  little.  The  first  article  in  her  code  is  — 
work.  She  cannot  endure  aught  that  savors  of  idleness.  Even 
the  senior  Jackwood  she  spurs  to  a  more  rigid  economy  of  time. 
The  long  noonings  he  so  much  enjoys  fill  her  with  amazement 
and  distress.  So  much  precious  time  wasted !  such  careless- 
ness of  worldly  gain  !  't  would  be  enough,  she  says,  to  try  the 
patience  of  Job.  She  cannot,  it  is  true,  order  Mr.  Jackwood  to 
go  about  his  business  in  so  many  words;  but  she  can  whip  the 
father  over  the  cpnvenient  shoulders  of  the  son.  So,  after  dinner 
Bim  —  to  use  his  own  expression  —  "  has  to  take  it." 


GRANDMOTHER   RIGGLESTY.  63 


"  Sonny,"  calls  grandmother  Rigglesty  from  her  throne. 

"  What  ?  "  snarls  Bim,  who  hates  to  be  called  sonny. 

"  W-h-a-t?  Is  that  the  way  to  answer?  You  han't  hj.d  me 
to  larn  ye  manners,  or  ye  would  n't  speak  so  !  WHAT  !  —  Come 
here,  an'  you  '11  know  what !  " 

Bim,  who  is  engaged  in  putting  together  the  frame  of  a 
small  wagon,  under  the  stoop,  kicks  off  one  of  the  wheels  vindic- 
tively, and  comes  forward,  with  fiery  looks,  to  learn  his  sentence. 

Old  lady,  coaxingly  :  "  Don't  ye  want  to  hold  this  yarn  for  me 
to  wind  ?  —  that 's  a  good  boy  !  " 

Abimelech,  scowling  fiercely :  "  I  knowed  there  'd  be  suthiu' 
for  me  to  do  !  " 

"  Wai,  you  be  an  abused  child,  I  must  say  for  't !  You  wan't 
born  to  work,  was  ye?" 

"  No,  by  darn,  I  wan't !  And  I  an't  goin'  to  work  every 
minute  o'  the  time,  if  I  haf  to  run  away  !  " 

"  Does  your  father  hear  that  ?  " 

Mr.  Jackwood,  tipped  back  in  his  chair  by  the  door,  enjoying 
a  comfortable  smoke,  perceives  that  he  is  expected  to  interfere. 

"  Bim'lech  !  "  —  in  a  warning  tone,  —  "  don't  le1  me  hear  no 
more  o'  that !  " 

Old  lady  :  "  It  does  a  great  deal  o'  good  to  correct  a  child  that 
if  ay !  A  child  o'  mine  would  n't  a'  got  off  so  easy  !  " 

Mr.  Jackwood,  with  a  transparent  frown  :  "  Be  a  good  boy, 
now,  or  I  shall  take  ye  in  hand." 

The  old  lady,  sneezing,  adjusts  the  yarn  to  the  boy's  hand. 

Abimelech,  submitting  with  a  bad  grace  :  "Wind  fast,  any  way ! " 

Old  lady  :  "  You  need  n't  be  so  uppish  'bout  it !  'T  won't  hurt 
ye  to  hold  yarn  a  little  while." 

"  Father  takes  a  noonin',  and  why  can't  I  ?  " 

"  If  he  does,  /  don't !  I  never  think  of  sich  a  thing.  I  never 
Drought  up  my  childern  to  sich  lazy  habits,  nuther."  —  Mr.  Jack- 
wood  winces.  —  "  Han't  your  father  nothin'  in  the  world  for  you 
to  do?" 

"  I  should  think  so  !  There  an't  a  boy  nowheres  round  here 
has  to  tug  it  so  hard  as  I  do.  I'm  gittin'  round-shouldered 
a'ready." 


64  GRANDMOTHER    RIGGLESTY. 


"  What  '11  ye  be  when  you  've  done  as  much  work  as  1  have  7 
—  There !  you've  held  the  yarn,  an'  it  han't  quite  killed  yt  arter 
all  the  fuss!  Don't  go  to  putterin'  with  that  waggin  now! 
You  'd  better  go  V  finish  the  fence  you  was  to  work  on  this  fore- 
noon." 

Abimelech,  drawing  Rover's  tail  through  the  centre  of  a 
wagon-wheel :  "  I  can't  do  nothin'  to  the  ferine  without  father." 

Old  lady,  losing  patience :  "  Do  see  that  boy !  I  wish  the 

dog  'u'd  bite  him  !  —  I  should  think  your  father How  I  do 

detest  shif 'lissness  !  Go  'n'  split  some  wood  !  " 

Abimelech,  grumbling :  "  The  axe  's  out  in  the  lot,  an'  I  an't 
goin'  to  split  wood  for  a  nooniu'  for  nobody !  " 

Old  lady,  exasperated  :  "  0,  dear  !  was  ever  so  ugly  a  young- 
one  !  " 

Mr.  Jackwood,  sitting  uneasily  in  his  chair:  "Bim'leeh!  what 
ye  'bout?" 

Abimelech,  sharply  :  "  Nothin' !  " 

Pho3be  :  "  He  's  trying  to  make  an  axletree  of  Rover's  tail ;  — 
that 's  all.  Tie  a  knot  in  it,  Bim,  then  the  wheel  won't  come 
off." 

Old  lady  :  "  Do  hold  yer  tongue,  an'  tend  to  them  dishes ' 
Sich  childern !  If  I  was  in  yer  mother's  place,  I  'd  cuff  yw 
cars,  both  on  ye  !  Now,  what 's  the  matter  with  you,  I  'd  like  to 
know  ! "  —  to  Charlotte.  "  If  yer  mind  was  in  yer  work,  as 
it  ought  to  be,  you  would  n't  set  there  drawin'  long  breaths  !  I 
wish  I  could  have  my  way  in  this  family  !  Things  'u'd  go  a  little 
different,  I  guess  !  " 

Mr.  Jackwood,  knocking  the  ashes  out  of  his  pipe  :  "  Come, 
Bim'leeh,  are  ye  ready  ?  " 

Bim,  furiously  :   "  What  ?  " 

Mr.  Jackwood  :  "  It 's  time  to  go  to  work.  I  gue«s  ve  '11  take 
some  fire  out  in  the  lot,  an'  see  if  that  'eru  stump  '11  burn  this 
arternoon." 

Abimelech  :  "  That 's  jest  the  way  !  Con — demn  it  all !  "  ish- 
ing  the  wagon  against  the  cheese-press.  "  There  !  I  've  brol  it! 
and  I  'm  glad  on  't.  I  can  't  have  a  minute  to  myself!  " 

Such  scenes  are  of  daily  occurrence.     The  old  lady 


GRANDMOTHER   RIQGLESTY.  05 


rare  ingenuity  in  discovering  occasions  for  the  exercise  of  her 
reformatory  spirit.  The  sink-puinp  is  so  noisy  that  it  "  jumps 
right  through  her  bones,"  when  any  one  goes  to  it  for  water.  The 
pig-pen  is  too  far  from  the  house,  the  stables  too  near.  The 
stove-oven  is  the  "  wust  thing "  to  bake  short-cake  in  ever 
invented.  Then,  there  are  those  "  plaguy  turkeys  and  chickens," 
dodging  into  the  kitchen  a  hundred  times  a  day !  A  still  greater 
annoyance  is  the  dog  Rover.  Him  she  neglects  no  opportunity 
to  cuff  or  kick.  When  he  is  lying  quietly  under  the  stove,  she 
puncheth  him  with  the  broom-handle,  she  pincheth  him  with  the 
tongs.  And  when  all  these  subjects  of  complaint  are  exhausted 
for  the  day,  she  falls  back  upon  her  lame  shoulder,  pities  herself 
to  tears,  and  has  recourse  to  the  Good  Samaritan. 

By  some  subtle  logic  of  her  own,  not  demonstrable  to  common 
minds,  the  old  lady  connects  all  these  afflicting  circumstances 
with  Charlotte,  as  their  centre  and  source.  "  Things  would  go 
very  different,  if  't  want  for  that  upstart ! "  says  grandmother 
lligglesty.  Whatever  the  evil  complained  of,  —  the  poultry,  the 
pump,  the  dog,  or  the  laziness  of  Bun  and  the  elder  Jackwood,  — 
her  suspicious  glances  single  out  Charlotte  as  somehow  guilty  and 
responsible.  Even  her  rheumatism,  of  twenty  years'  standing, 
seems  mysteriously  related  to  the  same  sinister  cause. 

This  treatment  is  insufferable.  It  leaves  Charlotte  no  moment 
of  peace.  She  feels  impelled  to  leave  her  kind  friends,  to  whom 
she  perceives  that  her  presence  brings  only  discomfort  and  dis- 
tress. But  Phoebe  clings  to  her  with  all  the  vehemence  of  a 
girlish  attachment ;  and  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Jackwood,  out  of  the 
sympathy  of  their  hearts,  afford  her  what  consolation  and  encour- 
agement they  can. 

Thus  a  week  goes  by  ;  when  one  day  there  comes  a  crisis.  Under 
pretence  of  making  a  critical  investigation  of  Betsy's  cheeses, 
the  old  lady  muffles  herself  in  her  shawl,  ascends  the  chamber 
stairs  with  painful  steps,  and,  having  taken  care  to  divert  sus- 
picion from  her  real  purpose  by  sneezing  loudly  five  or  six  times, 
and  rattling  the  empty  boards  on  the  shelves,  in  the  cheese-room, 
glides  softly  and  stealthily  into  the  girls'  bed-chamber. 

Grandmother  Rigglesty  is  possessed  of  ac  inquiring  turn  of 
6* 


66  GRANDMOTIIEK   RIQGLESTY. 


mind.  She  taketh  delight  in  all  those  little  discoveries  and  sur- 
prises incidental  to  rummaging  other  people's  boxes  and  drawers 
and  it  is  this  praiseworthy  interest  in  her  neighbors'  affairs  that 
attracts  her  eager  fingers  to  Phrebe's  letter-box,  then  to  the 
bureau  and  closet.  With  what  vivid  enjoyment  she  scrutinizes 
every  garment,  trinket,  and  silly  school-girl  note  !  But,  like  all 
earthly  pleasures,  this  of  ransacking  is  transient  and  unsatisfac- 
tory. Arrived  at  the  furthest  obscure  corner  of  the  clothes-mom, 
she  is  ready  to  weep  like  Alexander  when  he  had  no  more 
worlds  to  conquer.  She  turns,  and  in  the  dark  'hits  her  bead 
against  the  low  roof.  Incensed,  she  peers  around,  as  if  to  see 
what  audacious  rafter  inflicted  the  knock.  Ha!  what'stbis? 
Something  carefully  folded  and  put  away  over  the  beam.  Sho 
drags  it  out ;  she  holds  it  up  to  the  light ;  she  turns  it  over,  «ud 
around,  and  inside  out. 

"  Sakes  alive  !  "  grumbles  grandmother  Rigglesty,  "  what 's 
here  ?  An  ol'  merino,  sure  's  I  live  !  Betsy  never  had  sich  a 
gown  !  "  Turning  it  again.  "  It  can't  be  Phoebe's."  Still 
another  turn.  "It"  —  the  old  lady's  features  contract —  "it's 
that  crittur's ! " 

With  renewed  curiosity,  sharpened  by  malice,  she  searches  for 
pockets  ;  and,  finding  one,  explores  it  eagerly. 

"  What  on  'arth  !  "  —  drawing  forth  her  hand.  A  small  package 
is  brought  to  the  light,  and  she  makes  haste  to  undo  it.  —  "  An 
ol'  woman's  cap  !  "  splutters  grandmother  Rigglesty';  "  gray 
hair  !  "  —  still  greater  astonishment,  —  "  and  spectacles  !  — 
Marcy  on  me  !  It  all  comes  to  me  as  clear  as  day  !  cap,  specta- 
cles, an'  all !  " 

Without  pausing  to  reflect  that  she  is  about  to  expose  her  own 
dishonest  intermeddling,  down  stairs  she  hurries,  and,  bursting 
into  the  kitchen,  displays  her  trophies. 

Mrs.  Jackwood,  taking  a  custard-pie  from  the  oven,  drops  it 
upon  the  nearest  chair,  and  regards  her  mother  with  amazement. 
The  latter,  in  her  excitement,  has  placed  the  spectacles  on  her 
own  nose,  where  they  tremble  with  the  agitation  which  shakes  her 
unstrung  nerves. 

"  W-w-w-where   is  that  hussy  ?  "  —  brandishing  the  cap  and 


GRANDMOTHER    RIGGLESTY.  67 


wig.  "  Now,  Betsy,  I  guess  you  '11  believe  what  I  say !  Did  n't 
I  t-t-t-tell  ye  !  " 

"  What 's  the  matter  ?  "  cries  Mrs.  Jackwood. 

Charlotte  sits  dreamily  plying  her  needle  by  the  window,  when, 
aroused  by  the  sudden  burst  of  the  storm,  she  looks  up,  and  per- 
ceives at  a  glance  what  has  occurred.  The  color  leaves  her  cheek, 
but,  without  a  word,  she  bows  her  head  over  her  work,  and  waits 
patiently  for  the  commotion  to  pass. 

"  Matter  !  "  echoes  grandmother  Rigglesty.  "  Look  at  this 
'ere  gown  !  " 

"  I  've  seen  it  before,"  observed  Mrs.  Jackwood,  —  "  han't  I  ? 
Why,  it 's  Charlotte's." 

"  I  seen  it  'fore  you  ever  did  !  "  cries  grandmother  Rigglesty. 
"  A  stragglin'  woman  stopped  to  Jacob's,  down  to  Sawney  Hook ; 
an'  she  wore  this  very  same  gown,  an'  spectacles,  an'  false  hair, 
I  can  take  my  oath  !  I  was  sick  a-bed,  or  she  would  n't  a'  got 
off  as  she  did.  I  knowed  she  was  an  impostor,  the  minute  I  set 
eyes  on  her  ;  but  Jacob  would  n't  hear  to  't ;  an'  now  it  all  turns 
out  jest  as  I  said.  'T  was  this  crittur !  Look  up,  here ;  how 
green  ye  look!"  —  as  if  the  phenomenon  were  Charlotte's  fault, 
and  not  that  of  the  colored  glasses.  "  What  ye  got  to  say  for 
yerself,  hey  ?  " 

Slowly  Charlotte  raises  her  head,  and  puts  back  her  dark  hair 
from  her  face.  All  pale,  and  cold,  and  self-subdued,  with  a  thrill- 
ing beauty  in  her  aspect,  she  fixes  her  eyes  upon  the  angry  dame. 

"  I  can  make  no  explanations,"  —  she  speaks  gently,  but  there 
is  a  quick  quiver  of  passion  in  her  lip,  —  "  only  to  those  who  have 
trusted  me,"  tears  rush  to  her  e}res  as  she  turns  to  Phoebe 
and  her  mother,  "  I  would  say  this,  from  a  true  and  grateful 
heart  —  that  I  have  not  willingly  deceived  ;  but  it  is  my  misfor- 
tunes that  have  brought  me  here,  and  made  me  what  I  am." 

Phoebe,  vehemently  :  "  I  believe  you  ;  I  believe  every  word 
you  say  !  "  throwing  her  arms  about  Charlotte's  neck.  "  And  I 
wish  folks  would  let  you  alone,  and  mind  their  own  business !  " 

Mrs.  Jackwood,  agitated  :  "  Phoebe  !  Phoebe  !  " 

Grandmother  Rigglesty  :  "  You  —  you  —  you  sassy  thing  !  " 

Phoebe  :   "  I  don't  care  !     I  '11  stand  up  for  Charlotte  with  my 


88  GRANDMOTHER   RIGGLESTY. 


last  breath.  I  only  wish  some  folks  who  treat  her  so,  and  pre.iend 
to  be  Christians,  were  half  as  good  as  she  is  !  " 

The  old  lady  infuriate  ;  Mrs.  Jackwood,  fluttering,  tries  to  make 
peace ;  while  Charlotte,  touched  by  Phoebe's  devotion,  clasps  her 
in  her  arms,  and  weeps  upon  her  shoulder. 

The  arrival  of  Mr.  Jackwood,  with  Bim  and  the  dog,  is  oppor- 
tune. He  is  just  in  time  to  support  the  old  lady,  who  totters 
backward  in  a  fit,  the  moment  she  perceives  somebody  near  to 
catch  her.  The  fit  is  generally  supposed  to  be  feigned.  At  all 
events,  either  from  habit  or  otherwise,  that  remarkable  woman 
finds  it  in  her  way  to  bestow  a  kick  upon  Rover,  who,  forgetting 
his  usual  precaution,  in  the  general  excitement,  approaches  his 
enemy  just  as  the  elder  Abimelech  eases  her  down  upon  a  chair. 

Younger  Abimeleoh,  through  his  teeth  :  "  Bite  her,  Hove  !  " 

Rover,  holding  up  one  foot :  "  Ki-yi !  ki-yi !  " 

Mrs.  Jackwood,  running  for  the  camphor,  and  stumbling  over 
the  dog  :  "  Git  out !  *I  never  !  " 

Grandmother  Rigglesty,  starting  up  wildly  :  "  What  am  I  set- 
tin'  on  ?  Marcy  sakes  !  if  't  an't  that  bilin'  custard  !  " 

Mr.  Jackwood,  astounded  :  "  If  that  don't  beat  all !  " 

Mrs.  Jackwood  :  "  Strange  you  could  n't  see  that  pie,  father  !  " 

The  old  lady  totters  towards  the  bed-room,  dripping  custard  by 
the  way. 

Mrs.  Jackwood  :  "  Don't  se'  down,  mother  !   I  '11  bring  a  towel." 

Bim,  doubling  up  with  mirth  :  "  Goodie,  goodie  !  "  —  possibly 
alluding  to  the  pie. 

Mr.  Jackwood  folds  his  hands  behind  him,  and  regards  the  con- 
sequences of  the  disaster  with  a  look  of  consternation.  Rover 
licks  the  spatters  of  custard  from  the  floor  and  chair,  and,  timidly 
approaching  the  mass  which  was  a  pie, —  now  a  crushed  and  smok- 
ing ruin,  —  snuffs  and  dodges  as  it  burns  his  nose.  Bim  sprawls 
upon  the  floor,  screaming 'with  excessive  laughter. 

Phoebe,  excited  :  "  I  'm  glad  of  it !  She  might  let  Charlotte 
alone !  " 

Mr.  Jackwood  :  "  Don't  speak  so  !  " 

Phoebe  :  "  I  don't  care,  she  's  no  business  to  !  If  she  had  n't 
been  meddling  with  what  did  n't  belong  to  her,  she  would  n't  have 


GRANDMOTHER    RI«(5LESTY.  69 


found  Charlotte's  dress.  What  right  has  she  got  in  our  cioset, 
1  'd  like  to  know  ?  " 

"  Never  mind,"  says  Mr.  Jackwood,  approaching  Charlotte ; 
"  I  '11  make  it  all  right ;  I  '11  stand  by  ye  !  " 

"  Good  Mr.  Jackwood  !  But  I  have  brought  you  troublo 
enough  already.  Let  me  go  now ;  —  I  cannot  stay  here  any 
longer." 

Mr.  Jackwood,  remonstrating,  is  interrupted  by  a  knock  at  the 
front  door.  Rover  growls.  Bim  runs  to  admit  the  visitor.  Phoebe 
bustles  about  to  destroy  all  traces  of  the  custard  catastrophe. 
Charlotte  dries  her  eyes.  Enter  Mr.  Dunbury. 

Mr.  Jackwood,  cordially  :  "  Good-arternoon,  neighbor.  Take 
a  cheer.  Git  out,  dog  !  " 

Rover,  leaping  good-naturedly  upon  the  proud  Englishman's 
trousers,  prints  them  with  custard. 

Phoebe,  flurried  :  "  Put  him  out  doors,  Bim  !  "  —  meaning 
Hover,  not  Mr.  Dunbury.  "  He  's  had  his  feet  in  the  pie." 

Mr.  Dunbury,  very  red  :    "  Don't  mind  ;  no  damage  done." 

His  eyes  rest  upon  Charlotte,  bending  over  her  work.  Phoebe, 
who  likes  to  introduce  people,  introduces  her  friend.  The  Eng- 
lishman regards  the  fair  stranger  with  surprise.  Something  in 
her  face  or  manner  commands  his  respect.  He  rises  politely,  yet 
not  without  some  embarrassment  at  meeting  one  of  her  appearance 
so  unexpectedly,  and,  resuming  his  seat,  instinctively  places  his 
hat  over  a  hole  in  his  left  knee. 

At  this  juncture,  grandmother  Rigglesty,  curious  to  learn  who 
has  come,  enters  and  stands  with  her  back  towards  the  stove.  Re- 
cognizing an  old  acquaintance,  she  says  "  How  de  do  ?  "  with  an 
air  of  resentment,  designed  to  impress  him  with  the  fact  that  she 
possesses  a  memory  of  wrongs. 

Mrs.  Jackwood,  anxious  to  divert  attention  from  the  old  lady  : 
"How  is  Mrs.  Dunbury  to-day?" 

Mr.  Dunbury  :  "  She  's  very  low,  again.  She  will  be  better 
soon,  however,  I  hope,  for  we  expect  Hector  —  " 

Phoebe,  with  a  start  and  a  blush  :  "  Hector !  Is  he  coming 
home  ?  " 

Mr.  Dunbury  :  "  He  has  written  that  he  will  be  hero  to-uight 


70  GRANDMOTHER    RIGGLESTY. 


I  called  in,"  —  turning  to  Mr.  Jackwood,  —  "to  see  if  I  could 
borrow  your  wagon  to  bring  him  down  from  the  village." 

Mr.  Jackwood  :  "  Sartin,  neighbor  Dunbury  ;  anything  I  've 
got,  you  're  welcome  to." 

Charlotte,  suffering  greatly,  and  feeling  ill  at  ease  in  tho  Eng- 
lishman's presence,  escapes  to  her  chamber,  followed  by  Phoebe. 

"  Only  think,  Charlotte ! "  cries  the  young  girl,  animated, 
"  Hector  Dunbury  is  coming  to-night !  He  will  go  right  by  here. 
We  '11  be  on  the  look-out,  and  see  him." 

Charlotte,  tenderly  :  "  I  would  like  to  see  your  hero  ;  — yet," 

—  with  a  sad  intonation,  —  "he  is  nothing  to  me.     Nobody  is 
anything  to  me  now,  but  you,  Phoebe.     And  you,  dear  Phoebe ! 

—  I  must  leave  you  soon  !  " 

Phoebe,  with  a  frightened  air  :  "  What  do  you  mean  ?  You 
an't  going ! " 

"  Yes,  dear  child,  I  shall  go  !  You  must  not  oppose  me, 
now  !  " 

Phoebe,  frantically,  at  the  head  of  the  stairs  :  "  Mother  !  mother! 

—  You  shan't,  you  shan't  stir  out  of  this  house  to-night !     We 
won't  let  you  !  " 

"  Phoebe,  dear  Phoebe  !  " 

Mrs.  Jackwood,  appearing  presently,  finds  the  two  locked  in  a 
close  embrace. 

"  Mother,  she  says  she  is  going  !  Shall  she  ?  Tell  father  !  — 
He  won't  let  her,  I  know." 

Mrs.  Jackwood  offers  sober  counsel  to  dissuade  Charlotte  from 
her  purpose.  Meanwhile,  the  excited  Phoebe  runs  out,  alarms 
the  elder  Abimelcch,  and  brings  him  to  the  chamber. 

For  once  in  his  life,  Mr.  Jackwood's  quiet  spirit  is  roused.  He 
declares  that,  before  he  will  see  Charlotte  leave  his  roof,  he  will 
give  the  old  lady  her  "  walking-ticket,"  and  ship  her  off  to  Sawney 
Hook  by  the  morning  stage,  without  any  remorse  whatever. 

"  We  've  had  enough  of  her  pesky  notions  !  "  cries  Mr.  Abime- 
lech  Jackwood  ;  and  puts  his  foot  down. 

Charlotte  is  more  and  more  distressed.  No,  no  !  he  must  no* 
do  that,  she  insists  ;  and,  to  pacify  her  friends,  she  promises  U 
reconsider  her  resolution,  and  remain  with  them  until  morning. 


GRANDMOTHER    RIGGLESTY.  7l 


But  reflection  only  confirms  her  in  the  thought  that  it  is  her 
duty  to  go.  Let  what  will  betide,  she  cannot,  —  she,  who  has  no 
claim  upon  her  too  kind  friends,  —  she  cannot  be  the  cause  of 
sending  away  from  her  own  daughter's  house  even  so  unworthy 
and  unwelcome  a  guest  as  grandmother  Rigglesty. 

No,  she  herself  must  go,  —  and  quietly,  too,  to  make  the  pain 
of  parting  all  her  own.  Accordingly,  after  passing  a  sleepless 
night,  she  rises  in  the  still  of  the  morning,  dresses  herself  by  the 
moonlight  that  lies  so  calmly  in  the  chamber,  imprints  a  kiss  on 
Phoebe's  lips,  and  drops  a  tear  upon  her  cheek,  without  awaking 
her,  and  goes  forth  noiselessly  from  the  house.  She  wears  the 
garments  given  her  by  her  friends,  carrying  her  own  in  a  small 
bundle  ;  and,  thus  equipped  to  battle  with  the  world,  she  sets  out 
upon  her  journey  amid  a  silence  so  solemn  that  there  is  some- 
thing strange  and  awful  in  the  sound  of  her  own  light  tread  upon 
the  soft  dust  of  the  road. 


VII. 

THE   DUNBURYS. 

A  FAINT  whisper,  and  the  feeble  fluttering  of  a  white  hand  on 
the  pillow,  called  Bertha  Wing  to  the  bedside  of  her  friend. 

"  I  thought  I  heard  a  wagon,  —  there,  is  not  that  my  son's 
voice  ?  " 

Miss  Wing  had  heard  nothing ;  and  the  invalid  sunk  at  once 
into  despondency.  At  her  request,  —  and  mayhap  to  relieve  her 
own  anxious  feelings,  —  Bertha  resorted  to  the  porch,  and  listened 
under  the  vines.  Hearing  no  sound  of  wheels,  she  walked  out 
beneath  the  trees,  and  looked  up  the  road.  Still  no  Hector. 

It  was  now  dusk.  The  evening  was  calm  and  clear.  Over  the 
western  range  of  mountains  the  star  of  Love  burned  with  a  pale 
flame  in  the  silvery  sky,  while  in  the  east  the  yellow  moon,  half- 
risen,  shone  like  a  wide,  luminous  tent  pitched  behind  the  hills. 

Bertha  saw  the  star,  and  the  moon,  and  the  shadows  in  the 
valley  all  around,  and  the  fair  vault  of  over-arching  blue ;  and 
she  gazed  on  all  this  beauty,  until,  no  longer  able  to  control  her 
woman's  heart,  which  had  been  disciplined  to  suffer  and  be  still 
through  long  years,  she  leaned  her  forehead  against  one  of  the 
maples  by  the  fence,  and  wept. 

But  she  hastened  to  check  her  tears.  She  looked  up  and  smiled, 
and  said,  "  I  will  be  strong ! "  At  that  instant,  beneath  the  heaped- 
up  foliage  that  tow.ered  above  her,  a  bat  flitted  in  zig-zag  course 
athwart  the  gjoom.  It  startled  her,  for  she  was  looking  for  some 
fair  omen  whence  to  gather  hope  ;  and  her  eyes  followed  it  with 
a  sort  of  fascination,  when,  as  it  disappeared  in  the  dusk,  she 
beheld,  in  the  direction  of  its  angular  flight,  the  figure  of  a 


TIIE   DUNBURYS.  16 

Her  first  impulse  was  to  escape  ;  but,  on  reaching  the  porch  sha 
turned  again,  and  met  the  visitor  at  the  gate.  It  was  Mr.  Rukely, 
the  minister.  He  greeted  her  with  marked  tenderness  of  manner, 
and  inquired  for  Mrs.  Dunbury. 

"  Nothing  but  the  hope  of  seeing  Hector  seems  to  sustain  her," 
answered  Bertha,  with  a  slight  tremor  in  her  tone. 

"  Is  Hector  coining  ?  "  asked  the  visitor,  surprised. 

"  Yes  ;  he  wrote  that  he  would  be  here  to-night,"  —  Miss  Wing 
dropped  her  eyes.  "  I  think  it  will  be  well  for  his  mother ;  she 
>pines  for  him,  as  if  he  were  her  life." 

Mr.  llukely  looked  troubled ;  but  she  invited  him  to  go  in, 
and,  passing  under  the  porch,  with  her  hand  in  his,  the  cloud 
cleared  from  his  brow  ;  —  yet  could  he  not  perceive  that  she 
shrank  from  him  instinctively  ;  that  while  her  understanding  and 
her  will  were  the  two  open  arms  that  welcomed  him,  there  was 
something  deeper  and  stronger  in  her  nature,  that  repelled  him  ? 

Bertha  took  shame  to  herself  that  it  was  so.  She  sat  by  and 
heard  him  talk  to  her  invalid  friend,  and  each  noble  word  that 
fell  from  his  lips  dropped  like  fire  upon  her  rebellious  heart. 
When  he  went  away,  she  accompanied  him  to  the  porch,  and 
pressed  his  hand  with  strange  earnestness  at  parting. 

"  Forgive  me !  forgive  me  !  "  she  said,  in  deep  humility. 

"  Forgive  ? "  repeated  Mr.  Rukely,  with  a  benevolent  smile 
"  For  what  ?  " 

Bertha :  "  Why  is  it  that  I  could  never  appreciate  you  ? 
Surely,  surely,  if  I  loved  only  the  good  and  the  true,  my  natural 
heart  would  never  have  rebelled,  when  reason  said,  'Love!'" 

Mr.  Rukely,  with  hopeful  interest :  "  Does  it  rebel  now  ?  " 

Bertha,  very  faintly  :  "  No,  not  now." 

But  Bertha  could  not  look  up,  to  return  his  cordial  "  good- 
night ; "  and  when  she  raised  her  eyes,  he  had  passed  the  gate. 
Then  again,  as  before,  the  ominous  bat  flitted  atliwart  the  gloom, 
and  disappeared,  flapping  around  the  minister's  blaok  hat. 

Bertha  returned  to  the  bedside  of  her  friend,  afld  buried  her 
face  in  the  pillows. 

"  What  is  it,  my  poor  girl  ?  "  asked  Mrs.  Dunbury.     "  Let  ma 
know  all  your  grief." 
7 


74  TIIE    DUNBUKYS. 


Bertha  sobbed.  —  "  Has  God  forsaken  me?  Can  He  withhold 
His  light  and  strength  from  one  whose  only  prayer  is  to  serve 
Him  aright?  I  sometimes  think  so;  else  why,  in  all  my  strug- 
gles—" 

She  checked  herself.  She  had  spoken  wildly ;  she  was  afraid 
she  had  blasphemed.  Unwilling  to  impose  her  burdens  on  her 
IHend,  she  arose,  and  endeavored  to  forget  her  sorrows  in  offices  of 
charity. 

Mrs.  Dunbury  had  been  sustained  by  an  interest  in  the  girl's 
sufferings ;  but  now,  when  the  conversation  turned  upon  her  own 
condition,  she  sank  at  once.  Hector  would  not  come ;  all  hope 
of  recovering  was  past ;  and  she  assured  Miss  Wing,  with  pathetic 
earnestness,  that  she  had  but  a  few  minutes  to  live. 

Bertha  was  not  much  alarmed  ;  yet,  pencil  in  hand,  she  sat 
down,  with  a  serious  face,  to  receive  the  mother's  dying  words  to 
her  son. 

Mrs.  Dunbury  was  an  English  woman,  of  strong  natural  intelli- 
gence and  fine  sensibilities,  ripened  by  culture  in  early  life ;  and 
misfortune  and  ill-health  had  not  so  far  impaired  her  intellect,  but 
her  dying  message  evinced  all  the  richness  and  grace  of  expression 
of  her  happiest  days.  Unfortunately,  it  was  never  completed. 
Not  that  her  spirit  departed,  but  that  Hector  arrived. 

Bertha  Wing  dropped  her  pencil,  and  stood  up,  pale,  and  trem- 
bling in  every  nerve,  as  if  she  had  seen  an  apparition  ;  while  Mrs. 
Dunbury,  who  had  just  composed  herself  to  die  comfortably,  started 
up  in  bed,  and  cried  out  with  joy.  How  different  that  cry  from 
the  late  dying  whisper ! 

"  Well,  mother,  you  are  glad  to  see  the  prodigal !  "  said  Hec- 
tor, in  a  voice  full  of  tenderness  and  cheer,  when  she  had  clung 
spasmodically  to  his  neck  for  some  seconds.  "  Ah,  Bertha !  is 
that  you  ?  " 

Bertha's  conscious  face  became  suddenly  very  red,  and  there 
was  a  slight  trill  of  agitation  in  her  voice,  as  she  returned  the 
greeting. 

"  If  mother  would  let  go  my  hand,  I  would  kiss  you,  Bertha ! 
But,  upon  my  word,  I  can't  get  away  !  —  How  strong  you  are, 
mother!  Sick?  —  1  don't  believe  it !  Your  pulse  —  as  good  a 


THE  DUNBURYS.  It 


pulse  as  anybody's  !    Your  eye  —  I  wish  mine  was  half  as  bright 
All  you  need  is  a  little  stimulus." 

Mrs.  Dunbury,  shaking  her  head  :  "  0,  but  I  have  tried  tonics 
faithfully ! " 

Hector  snapped  his  fingers :  "  So  much  for  your  tonics  !  Thia 
is  what  I  mean,"  —  pressing  her  hand  to  his  heart,  —  "  sympathy, 
sympathy !  Confess  to  me  that  this  is  what  you  have  wanted." 

"  I  know  it  is —  I  know  it !     You  make  me  a  different  being  !• 
Dear  boy !  how  rny  heart  has  jearned  for  you !     You  are  my 
only  hope  and  stay  !     Your  father  —  your  father !  "  —  the  inva- 
lid's voice  faltered,  —  "he  needs  you,  too,  my  son.     Promise  m< 
now  —  this  night  —  that  you  will  not  leave  us  again." 

At  mention  of  his  father,  Hector's  head  sank  upon  his  breast ; 
but,  recovering  himself,  he  looked  up,  pressing  the  invalid's  hand. 

"  0,  I  shall  not  leave  you  in  a  hurry,  mother !  I  am  glad  to 
feel  once  more  the  peaceful  influences  of  my  old  home.  The 
woods,  and  streams,  and  mountains,  and  all  the  haunts  of  this 
most  beautiful  and  tranquil  of  green  valleys,  will  inspire  me;  and 
it  seems  as  though  I  could  spend  years  of  happy  quiet  beneath 
this  dear  old  roof:  but  the  good  Divinity  that  shapes  our  ends 
leads  me  by  such  unexpected  paths,  and  flings  open  before  me  so 
many  golden  gates  of  surprise,  that  I  dare  make  no  definite  plans 
for  the  future.  I  can  promise  nothing." 

Hector  turned  his  fine  eyes  up  with  a  look  of  aspiration,  which 
thrilled  his  mother.  At  that  moment,  the  shrill  old  clock  rang  in 
the  adjoining  room.  Hector  started. 

"  The  same  venerable  time-piece,  my  boy  !  How  many  hours 
I  have  counted  by  that  clock,  in  your  absence,  when  every  stroke 
has  rolled  an  almost  insupportable  burden  on  my  soul !  —  But  I 
must  not  forget  my  drops.  Bertha  ran  into  the  other  room  :  will 
you  speak  to  her?" 

"  Perhaps  I"  can  administer  to  you  myself.  Where  are  your 
drops?"  —  Hector  turned  to  the  vials  and  cups  on  the  table. — 
"  Merciful  —  mother !  what 's  all  this  ?  " 

"  Those  are  my  medicines.  I  have  been  obliged  to  resort  to 
quite  a- variety." 

Hector  looked  horrified  :  "  Medicines !  variety  !  death  and  de 
struction  ' " 


76  THE   DUNBURYS. 


"  You  frighten  me,  Hector.  Don't,  my  son !  Why  do  you 
look  so  strangely  ?  " 

"  Because  I  am  exceeding  wroth  !  0,  what  a  native  power  you 
must  have,  to  admit  so  many  deadly  enemies  into  the  citadel  of 
your  constitution,  and  hold  out  against  them  all !  Look  you, 
dear  mother,  —  I  aspire  to  be  your  medical  adviser  for  a  few 
days.  Will  you  accept  me? " 

Such  was  Mrs.  Dunbury's  confidence  in  Hector,  that  she  ac- 
ceded at  once  to  his  proposal. 

"  And  you  engage  to  follow  my  directions?" 

"  Willingly,  —  for  I  am  sure  my  wise  and  generous  son  can  do 
QO  wrong." 

At  that  moment,  there  was  a  crash. 

Hector,  with  a  queer  expression  :  "  Cannot,  eh  ?   Look  there !  " 

"  Why,  what  have  you  done?" 

"  Nothing,  —  only  upset  the  table  a  little." 

"And  the  vials?" 

"  Are  smashed,  mother '  I  '11  tell  you  how  it  happened.  I 
thought  I  would  give  you  a  tune  in  place  of  a  powder ;  and,  see- 
ing the  flute  on  the  book-case,  I  reached  up  —  the  table  was  in 
»he  way —  I  placed  my  knee  gently  and  adroitly  on  the  leaf,  and 
—  the  result !  " 

Hector's  good-nature  was  irresistible. 

"  He  was  careful  to  put  the  lamp  on  the  mantel-piece !  "  said 
his  mother  to  the  dismayed  Bertha.  "  So,  we  won't  weep  over  the 
catastrophe.  Call  Bridget ;  she  will  clear  away  the  ruins." 

Bridget,  getting  on  her  knees :  "  It 's  ahl  on  the  ile-cloth, 
Mrs.  Dunbury.  It  did  n't  go  a  speck  on  the  carpet." 

Hector,  going :  "  I  see  the  table  is  waiting,  out  there ;  and  I 
have  the  appetite  of  a  lion !  The  stage  broke  down  under  the 
mountain,  we  were  delayed  three  hours  in  a  supperless  wilder- 
ness, and  I  've  been  the  ill-tempered  man  you  see  me  ever 
since.  Nothing  but  toast  and  tea  will  cure  me.  Come,  Bertha." 

After  supper,  Mrs.  Dunbury  called  Miss  Wing  to  her  side,  and 
Astonished  her. 

"  I  believe,"  said  she,  "  I  will  sit  up  a  little  while,  and  have  my 
bed  made." 


THE   DUNBURY3.  77 


Bertha,  doubting  her  senses :  "  Sit  up  !  " 

Hector,  advancing  :   "  Why  not  ?  " 

Bertha  :  "  She  has  not  sat  in  a  chair  for  five  days !  " 

Hector,  dogmatically :  "  Can't  help  it !  Let  her  sit  up  half  an 
hour." 

And  she,  who  was  so  lately  engaged  in  dictating  dying  mes- 
sages, was  straightway  assisted  to  a  chair. 

Meantime  Hector,  retiring  to  the  sitting-room,  and  seating  him- 
self at  his  mother's  seraphine,  near  the  open  door,  played  "  Sweet 
Home  "  with  exquisite  tenderness  of  expression. 

Bertha  ran  to  him  in  haste  :  "  She  is  crying !  I  am  afraid  "  — 
in  a  hurried  whisper  —  "  the  music  will  weaken  and  depress  her." 

Hector,  striking  up  a  plaintive  Scotch  air :  "  Have  you  no  con- 
fidence in  the  new  physician  ?  Look  you,  Bertha  !  if  our  patient 
asks  for  medicine,  tell  her  Dr.  Hector  has  not  prescribed  any. 
And  if  you  know  of  any  drugs,  fluid,  herb,  or  powder,  —  allo- 
pathic, homoeopathic,  botanic,  —  harbored  or  concealed  in  this 
house,  gather  them  up  with  affectionate  care,  and  place  them 
on  the  table  convenient  for  being  tipped  over.  Some  accidents 
can  happen  as  well  as  others  !  " 

With  Hector's  eyes  upon  her,  with  his  lips  so  near  her  face,  a 
strange  trouble  held  poor  Bertha  as  by  a  spell. 

"  I  am  afraid,"  she  answered,  mechanically,  "  that  your  treat- 
ment will  kill  her." 

"  Then  let  us  take  care  that  she  dies  a  happy  death !  " 

Hector  struck  into  an  inspiring  melody,  full  of  laughter  and 
tears,  which  ran  somehow  into  the  grand  movement  of  a  spirited 
march.  He  had  not  ended  when,  at  a  cry  of  alarm  from  Bertha, 
he  looked  up,  and  saw  his  mother,  dressed  all  in  white,  approach- 
ing, with  uplifted  hand,  like  a  somnarnbule.  Nothing  discon- 
certed, he  fixed  his  eyes  upon  her  bright,  dilating  orbs,  and  poured 
all  the  fire  and  energy  of  his  soul  into  the  concluding  strains. 

The  invalid's  hand  sank  slowly,  a  smile  flitted  over  her  pale 
face,  and  she  tottered  forward.  Hector  caught  her  in  his  arms. 

A  few  minutes  later,  Bertha  Wing,  in  the  bed-chamber,  heard 
a,  well-known  touch :  it  was  not  Hector's :  yet  she  could  scare* 


78  THE    DTJNBURYS. 


credit  her  senses,  until  she  looked,  and,  behold !  the  invalid  play- 
ing with  all  the  grace  and  softness  of  her  better  days  ! 

"  Here,  Bertha  ! "  cried  the  joyous  Hector,  when  his  mother 
had  finished  ;  "  you  may  take  our  patient  now,  and  put  her  to  bed.' 

Late  that  night,  when  all  was  still  in  the  house,  Hector  left  his 
chamber,  and  went  forth  into  the  open  air.  The  full  moon  was 
shining  through  the  door-yard  trees.  In  her  calm  light  the 
dusky  mountain  slept,  like  a  monster,  with  vast  head  and  lofty 
shoulder  traced  upon  the  back-ground  of  the  sky.  The  valley 
was  still  and  cool.  Willow  clumps  and  shaggy  elm-trees,  dimly 
seen,  marked  the  winding  course  of  the  creek.  Towards  this  he 
wandered  away  in  the  silent  night. 

But  the  old  path,  by  which  he  used  to  stray,  was  overgrown. 
And  the  sloping  turf  beneath  the  butternut-tree,  whereon  he  used 
to  lie  in  the  hot  midsummer  noons,  and  listen  to  the  purling  water 
and  the  humming  bees,  —  the  dear  old  turf  was  gone ;  the  freshet 
floods  had  lapped  it  away ;  and  in  its  place  appeared  an  abrupt 
bank,  covered  with  high  grass. 

The  water  that  night  sang  the  same  old  tune,  but  with  a  sadder, 
deeper  meaning  than  of  yore.  Hector  wept  as  he  listened  ;  for  in 
that  plaintive  ripple  what  voices  spoke  to  him  out  of  the  past ! 

Rousing  himself  from  these  dreams,  he  was  returning  to  his 
chamber,  when,  as  he  approached  the  porch,  he  heard  a  fluttering 
among  the  leaves,  and  saw  a  figure  start  up  from  the  bench. 

"  Don't  be  afraid,  Bertha ;  it  is  I." 

"  How  you  frightened  me !  I  thought  you  asleep  and  dream- 
ing, by  this  time." 

"  I  have  been  dreaming,  but  not  asleep,  Bertha.  0,  dreams 
dreams  !  what  would  life  be  without  them  ?  " 

"  It  would  be  better  and  happier,"  said  Miss  Wing. 

"That  was  spoken  with  a  sigh,  Bertha.  Your  dreams  have 
been  false,  then,  and  you  regret  them  ?  " 

"  I  do  not  regret  them,  for  they  have  taught  me  useful  lessons. 
But  I  am  awake  now,  and  shall  dream  no  more." 

"  Shake  off  this  illusion  of  existence,  then,  for  all  who  live  aro 
dreamers.  Come,  Bertha,  sit  down,  and  tell  me  your  heart's  hia« 


THE    DUNBURYS.  79 


tory.  Ah,  how  your  hand  trembles !  Are  you  afraid  of 
me?" 

Bertha,  confusedly  :  "  Yes,  I  am." 

"  Once  there  was  a  flower,  and  it  was  afraid  of  the  rain.  Do 
you  dislike  me?  I  think  you  did  not  in  old  times,  —  did  you?" 

"  0,  no  !     But  you  have  been  so  long  away  —  " 

"  I  have  become  as  a  stranger  !  But  it  should  hot  be  so.  I 
have  always  cherished  a  tender  remembrance  of  you.  When  I 
was  a  boy,  you  recollect,  I  fancied  myself  in  love  with  little  Ber- 
tha Wing.  People  laughed  at  me,  because  you  were  older  than 
I!  Well,  that  is  all  past;  and  I  have  outgrown  I  don't  know 
how  many  loves  since  !  I  'm  a  fickle  wretch,  Bertha  !  —  How  you 
shiver !  Are  you  cold  ?  " 

Bertha,  in  a  strange  tone  :  "  The  air  is  chill.     Let  me  go  in." 

Hector,  kindly  :  "  Go  in,  good  Bertha.  But  give  me  that  kiss 
you  owe  me.  My  mother  held  me,  you  know,  and  I  could  not 
claim  the  right  of  an  old  friend.  —  What !  so  shy  ?  " 

Bertha,  escaping :  "  Another  time.    Not  now,  —  don't,  Hector  ! " 

He  loosed  his  hold,  and  the  next  moment  stood  alone  under  the 
porch. 

"  I  declare,"  thought  he,  as  he  bit  his  lip,  —  perhaps  it  itched 
a  little,  —  "that  girl  is  in  love!  Some  rogue  has  been  trifling 
with  her.  Poor  Bertha !  " 

Hector  sighed  :  retired  to  his  room  ;  went  to  bed ;  remained  as 
broad  awake  as  an  owl  for  three  mortal  hours ;  then,  lapsing 
lightly  into  oblivion,  slept  till  the  crowing  of  the  cock.  Unable 
to  clo.se  his  eyes  again,  he  turned  his  face  to  the  window,  and  lay 
watching  the  brightening  of  the  east  through  a  notch  in  the  moun- 
tains. First  a  few  gray  streaks;  then  a  ruddy  glow;  and  at 
last  up  came  the  sun,  like  a  great  fiery  spider,  on  his  web  of 
beams. 

Up  got  Hector,  also,  pulled  on  his  clothe?,  and,  stepping  out 
upon  the  balcony  over  the  porch,  inflated  his  lungs  in  the  fresh 
morning. air.  Then  he  went  down  stairs,  and,  learning  from  Ber- 
tha that  his  mother  was  awake,  hastened  to  her  chamber.  He 
found  her  shedding  tears. 

"  What  now?  "  he  cried.  "  I  just  met  Bertha,  with  a  pair  of 
"cd  eyes,  in  the  hall." 


80  THE    DUNBURYS. 


"  She  thinks  her  services  are  no  longer  required  here,  and  &hc 
is  going  away.  I  am  better,  she  says,  —  and  you  are  here  now 
to  comfort  me  —  " 

"  But  this  is  absurd !  Ho,  Bertha  Wing !  Come  here,  you 
trembling  culprit !  Do  you  think  you  are  going  to  leave  us  so  ? 

Bertha:  "I  should  be  glad  to* stay,  —  but  —  it  will  be  bet- 
ter  —  " 

She  hesitated,  blushed,  and  dropped  her  eyes  before  Hector's 
piercing  look.  Yet  she  was  firm.  Neither  his  persuasive  elo- 
quence nor  Mrs.  Dunbury's  tears  could  move  her. 

It  was  a  sudden  and  unaccountable  resolution  on  her  part.  Ah, 
nobody  knew  what  pain,  what  prayers  and  tears,  it  had  cost  her ! 
Had  Hector  guessed  her  secret,  would  he  have  opposed  her  ? 

After  breakfast,  Bertha,  looking  unusually  pale,  but  with  a 
small  hectic  spot  on  either  cheek,  quietly  withdrew,  put  her 
things  carefully  together,  and  took  leave  of  her  friends. 

"  Who  would  have  thought  so  quiet  a  body  as  you  could  have 
such  an  iron  will  ?  "  cried  Hector. 

"  When  my  duty  is  clear,"  said  Bertha,  —  "  but  even  then  I 
am  too  easily  influenced." 

"  By  those  who  can  command  you, —  not  by  me,  at  all !  — Well, 
good-by,  mother !  Expect  me  back  in  an  hour  or  two,  and  Ber- 
tha with  me.  I  shall  learn  if  she  is  wanted  at  home ;  and,  if  it 's 
as  I  suppose,  we  '11  only  take  a  pleasant  ride  up  the  hill,  and 
r<^urn  to  dinner." 

Bertha's  home  was  high  up  on  the  mountain  side.  It  was  a 
beautiful  drive  up  there,  that  bright  summer  morning.  A  little 
beyond  Wild  River,  the  mountain  road  branched  out  from  the 
highway,  crossed  the  valley,  and  wound  its  snake-like  course  up 
the  steep  terraces  and  slopes  of  the  western  hills.  The  day  was 
warm  ;  the  sunshine  painted  road  and  field  ;  and  often,  toiling  up 
the  difficult  ascent,  the  young  man  stopped  his  panting  horse  in 
some  quiet  dell,  to  let  him  breathe  under  the  cool  shade  of  road- 
side trees. 

The  glory  of  the  morning,  and  the  beauty  of  the  scenery,  in 
spired  Hector ;  a  full  joy  flowed  out  of  his  soul,  rippling  and 
sparkling  in  words,  and  bathing  his  fine  face. 


THE    DUNBURY3.  81 


Bertha  all  the  while  held  strongly  upon  the  reins  of  her  will ; 
she  made  herself  outwardly  cold  and  stony  ;  but,  in  spite  of  all,  a 
sweet  intoxication  stole  over  her.  She  was  glad  when  the  pain  of 
separation  came,  and  Hector  helped  her  down  at  her  father's  house. 

It  was  a  small  wooden  house,  with  a  garden  on  the  lower  side, 
an  orchard  in  the  rear,  with  fields  beyond,  and  the  thick  billowy 
foliage  of  green  woods  further  up  the  mountain.  A  little  gate 
opened  upon  a  little  path  which  led  through  a  neat  little  yard  to 
the  door.  Bertha  and  her  friend  were  half-way  in  the  enclosure, 
when  an  old  lady  came  out  to  greet  them. 

"  Why,  Bertha,  is  that  you  ?  "  she  cried,  shading  her  eyes  with 
her  fore-arm.  "  And  if  there  an't  Hector  Dunbury  !  "Who  ever 
expected  to  see  you  !  Did  you  jest  rain  down  ?  " 

"  I  just  reined  up,"  replied  Hector,  shaking  hands  with  the 
delighted  old  lady. 

Bertha  led  the  way  to  her  grandmother's  room,  —  a  small,  com 
fortable  apartment,  plainly  furnished,  with  a  bed  on  one  side. 
Perceiving  some  one  on  the  bed,  she  looked  inquiringly  at  the 
old  lady. 

"  Don't  speak  loud,"  said  the  latter ;  "  't  would  be  a  pity  to 
wake  her,  —  she  seemed  so  tired  and  troubled,  when  she  laid 
down  ! " 

"  Who  is  it  ?  " 

"  A  poor  gal,  that  'pears  to  be  travellin'  a-foot  an'  alone,  poor 
thing  !  She  was  goin'  over  the  mountain,  an'  stopped  for  a  drink 
o'  water ;  but  she  looked  so  pitiful,  't  I  went  right  to  work  an' 
made  her  a  cup  o'  tea,  an'  some  toast,  an'  gin  her  my  bed  to  lay 
down  on  an'  rest  her,  arter  she  'd  e't  a  mouthful.  Poor  thing  ! 
She  dropped  asleep,  jest  like  a  child.  She  must  a'  had  a  hard 
ja'nt  this  mornin' !  " 

Hector  sat  down  in  the  door,  and  broached  the  subject  of  Ber- 
tha's return  ;  Bertha,  meanwhile,  laying  off  her  bonnet  and  shawl 
with  an  air  of  gentle  firmness,  which  sufficiently  expressed  her 
intention  to  remain  where  she  was. 

"  I  tell  ye  what,"  said  the  old  lady,  "  I  'm  dre'ful  lonesome, 
days,  when  she  's  away,  —  Susan  an't  so  good  as  a  pair  o'  tongs 
for  comp'ny,  —  an'  I  guess  you  can  git  one  o'  Sam  Fosdick's  dar- 


82  THE    DUNBURYS. 


tors ;  there  's  three  on  'em  to  hum  now,  doin'  nothin'.  'T  any 
rate,  you  drive  up  on  the  hill ;  an'  if  they  an't  willin'  to  go,  n'ary 
one  on  'ein,  pr'aps  Bertha  will.  We  '11  talk  it  over  an'  see,  time 
you  come  along  back." 

This  was  certainly  a  fair  proposition  ;  and  Hector,  jumping  into 
the  buggy,  drove  up  to  the  dilapidated  old  house  where  Sam  Fos 
dick's  daughters  lived.  He  found  them  all  at  home,  —  three  tall, 
strong  girls,  yawning  away  the  morning  over  a  little  work.  They 
were  slovenly  dressed,  not  expecting  company  ;  and  his  sudden 
appearance  created  a  decided  sensation.  Without  much  ceremony 
he  made  known  his  errand. 

"  I  don'  know,"  whined  Mrs.  Fosdick,  a  shrivelled,  sour- 
faced,  discontented  woman,  who  sat  picking  over  a  dish  of  wormy 
peas,  in  the  corner.  "  We  an't  so  poor  't  our  gals  are  obleeged  to 
go  out  to  work  ;  but  it 's  jest  as  they  can  agree.  What  do  you 
say,  'Livia  ?  " 

Olivia,  with  a  toss  of  her  frizzled  head  :  "  I  don't  think  I  should 
be  able  to  go.  'Patra  can,  if  she  's  a  mind  to." 

Cleopatra,  hiding  her  naked  feet  under  her  chair :  "  I  've  no 
disposition,  thank  you,  Miss  Olivia  !  'Tildy  may,  if  she  likes." 

Matilda,  simpering  :  "  I  have  n't  'tended  two  terms  at  Kiltney 
jest  to  learn  that  housework  is  my  sphere  !  " 

Hector,  retreating  :  "  Certainly  not !  You  will  pardon  my 
presumption.  Bridget  does  the  housework,  and  the  most  mother 
wants  is  a  companion  —  " 

Olivia,  condescending  :  "  0,  if  that  is  the  case  —  " 

Cleopatra,  interrupting  her  :  "  You  an't  going  to  change  your 
mind,  I  hope,  jest  as  I  Ve  concluded  to  go." 

Matilda :  "  You  both  refused  once ;  and  now,  if  anybody  goes, 
I  think  it  ought  to  be  me,  —  had  n't  it,  ma  ?  " 

Mrs.  Fosdick  :  "  'Tildy  is  very  accomplished,  and  if  it 's  a  com- 
panion your  mother  wants  —  " 

Matilda,  unpinning  her  curl-papers :  "  'T  won't  take  me  ten 
minutes  to  git  ready  !  Why  can't  you  help  me,  'Patra  ?" 

Cleopatra,  independently,  with  several  toes  peeping  from  under 
her  dress  :  "  I  'm  nobody's  waiter,  I  'd  have  you  know,  miss  '  " 

Matilda  :   "  I  don't  care,  'Livia.  will  !  " 


THE    DUNBURYS.  88 


Olivia,  mockingly  :  "  1  don't  care,  'Livia  won't !  " 

Hector,  with  exemplary  self-denial :  "  Excuse  me,  Miss  Mati\da, 
but  I  am  really  afraid  you  are  making  too  great  a  sacrifice  of 
feeling,  and  I  am  unwilling  to  remove  you  out  of  your  sphere." 

He  took  leave  politely.  'Tilda  looked  blank,  'Patra  chuckled, 
'Livia  tossed  her  frizzled  head  again ;  and  during  the  remainder 
of  the  forenoon,  the  three  poor-and-proud  sisters  quarrelled  sharply 
about  the  nice  little  apple  of  discord  which  had  been  dropped 
among  them,  and  snatched  away  again  before  either  could  seize  it. 

Diverted  by  the  adventure,  Hector  returned  to  the  other  house 
He  was  met  by  old  Mrs.  Wing  at  the  gate. 

"  I  did  n't  much  think  you  'd  git  one  on  'em,"  said  she,  "  for 
they  are  pesky  proud  critturs,  always  for  everlastiu'  settiu'  up  for 
ladies  !  " 

"  Whose  horse  is  that  under  the  shed  ?  "  asked  Hector. 

"  It 's  Mr.  Rukely's  ;  he  called  at  your  father's,  jest  arter  you 
left,  and  follered  right  along  up  the  hill." 

"  Mr.  Rukely,"  —  Hector  scratched  his  ear,  —  "  Mr.  Rukely, 
Mr.  Rukely !  Are  he  and  Bertha  pretty  good  friends  ?  " 

"  Dear  me  !  "  whispered  the  old  lady,  all  smiles  ;  "  did  n't  you 
know  it?  They  're  engaged.  They  're  in  the  parlor  now." 

"  Phew-ew  ! "  whistled  Hector.  "But  who  is  that  in  your 
room  ?  " 

"  It 's  the  gal  't  you  seen  lyin'  on  the  bed.  An'  I  was  goin'  to 
tell  ye,  if  your  mother  wants  a  nice,  perty  body  to  wait  on  her, 
she  can't  do  better,  I  think,  than  to  take  her.  She  turns  out  to 
be  a  gal  that 's  ben  livin'  to  Mr.  Jackwood's." 

u  I  wonder  if  she  's  the  person  father  saw  there  last  evening  !  " 
exclaimed  Hector. 

He  paused  at  the  door,  struck  with  sudden  surprise.  Notwith- 
standing his  father's  favorable  report  of  Charlotte,  he  was  alto- 
gether unprepared  to  see  so  peculiar  and  striking  a  countenance. 
The  subdued  passion  and  spiritual  beauty  of  her  face  told  her 
heart's  history.  The  intuitive  Hector  felt  a  strange  influence  steal 
over  him  ;  and  all  hw  sorrows,  the  depth,  the  sweetness  of  hor 
<pirit,  seemed  revealed  to  him. 

On  her  part,  she  did  not  venture  to  return  his  earnest  gaze 


84  THE    DUNBURYS. 


But  something  in  the  tones  of  his  voice  startled  her.  It  seemed 
to  reopen  suddenly,  at  her  very  feet,  the  dizzy  gulf  from  which 
she  had  fled.  She  stole  an  anxious  glance  at  his  face ;  and  in- 
stantly the  blood  rushed  suffocatingly  upon  her  heart,  the  room 
grew  misty,  and  her  head  sank  upon  the  bed  near  which  she  sat. 

"  You  are  so  tired,  poor  child  !  "  cried  Mrs.  Wing.  "  Le'  me 
give  you  a  little  currant  wine." 

She  brought  a  bottle  from  her  closet,  poured  a  few  spoonfuls  of 
the  liquid  into  a  tumbler,  and  supported  Charlotte's  head  while 
she  drank. 

"  You  are  very  kind  !  "  said  the  girl.  "  I  am  better  now,  — 
thank  you." 

Hector,  with  instinctive  delicacy  of  feeling,  had  walked  to  the 
open  door,  and  now  stood  with  folded  arms,  gazing  out  upon  the 
fair  mountain  scenery.  This  was  a  relief  to  Charlotte  ;  she  made 
a  strong  effort  to  control  herself,  and  appear  calm ;  yet  when  he 
turned  again,  her  spirit  was  all  weak  and  tremulous,  like  a  reed 
bending  under  the  weight  of  a  bird. 

Hector,  however,  betrayed  no  sign  of  recognition.  Hoping,  but 
trembling  still,  Charlotte  breathed  an  inward  prayer  that  the 
old  lady's  proposal  in  her  favor  might  be  at  once  rejected.  Hec- 
tor was  but  too  eager  to  accept  it.  Then  she  endeavored,  falter- 
ingly,  to  excuse  herself ;  but  he  would  not  consent  to  release  her, 
and  she  saw  no  way  left  but  to  accompany  him. 

Meanwhile,  in  the  parlor,  the  conscientious  Bertha  confessed 
herself,  in  deep  contrition  of  heart,  to  her  indulgent  friend. 

Mr.  Rukely  was  somewhat  disturbed.  But  he  was  none  of  your 
wild  and  capricious  lovers.  His  passion  lay  tamely  at  the  feet  of 
his  understanding,  like  an  obedient  spaniel,  that  never  snapped  or 
snarled.  He  pressed  Bertha  in  his  arm?,  and  for  the  first  time  in 
his  life,  affianced  though  they  were,  kissed  her—  on  the  forehead. 

A  cold  revulsion  of  feeling  made  the  unhappy  girl  shudder  in 
his  embrace.  0,  how  wicked  she  thought  herself,  because  her 
heart  was  stronger  than  her  will !  But  down  she  crushed  that 
heart  again,  resolved  anew  to  love  what  her  judgment  pronounced 
worthy. 


THE   DLNBURxS.  85 


"  It  is  a  great  relief,"  she -said,  "  to  have  told  you  this  ;  and 
you  are  so  kind !  I  thought  it  would  separate  us  forever  !  " 

"  No,  Bertha,"  repeated  the  other,  "  it  makes  me  love  you  the 
more.  I  respect  your  truth.  You  have  fled  from  temptation  ;  you 
have  shut  your  eyes  and  your  ears  against  it;  it  is  the  only  way." 

"  The  worst  is  passed,"  she  said.  "  I  conquered  my  love  for 
him  once ,'  why  it  returned  upon  me  with  such  power,  I  cannot 
tell ;  but  I  have  shut  it  out  again,  and  forever." 

She  walked  mechanically  to  the  window.  Hector  was  helping 
Charlotte  into  the  buggy.  He  seemed  to  hold  her  hand  with  a 
lingering  pressure ;  his  features  beamed  with  satisfaction ;  he 
looked  the  very  picture  of  manly  grace.  A  quick,  sharp  pain 
shot  through  Bertha's  heart  as  she  gazed,  and  she  turned  away, 
stifling  a  cry  of  anguish,  and  shutting  out  the  sight  with  her 
hands. 

8 


VIII. 

DOWN   THE   MOUNTAIN. 

THE  morning  continued  fine.  The  rays  of  the  sun  beat  down 
hotly  ;  but  cool  breezes  played  upon  the  mountain  side,  shaking 
the  green  foliage  of  the  woods,  dancing  over  the  meadows,  and 
tossing  the  fields  of  grain  into  fantastic  waves. 

A  prospect  of  Alpine  loveliness  opened  before  Hector  and  Char- 
lotte, as  they  emerged  from  a  shady  dingle  not  far  from  Mr. 
Wing's  house.  The  road  wound  along  the  brow  of  a  lofty  spur, 
from  which  the  valley,  out-spread  below,  looked  like  a  vast  and 
magnificent  map.  The  miniature  fences,  the  spotted  farms,  the 
slender  and  winding  streams,  the  houses  so  distant  and  so  small, 
formed  a  picture  of  exceeding  beauty.  Still  and  grand  rose  the 
woody  mountains  beyond,  the  forests  on  their  backs  appearing  like 
thick  growths  of  weeds  a  mower  might  cut  with  his  scythe.  Here 
and  there,  amid  clearings,  along  a  dark  chasm  in  the  hills,  gleamed 
the  foam  and  silver  of  Wild  River,  rushing  to  the  plain. 

Hector  pointed  out  to  his  companion  his  father's  house,  Mr. 
Jackwood's,  and  two  or  three  little  villages  nestled  in  green  spots 
up  and  down  the  creek.  But,  somehow,  he  could  not  talk  to  her 
as  he  had  talked  to  Bertha.  He  could  neither  be  frivolous  nor 
sentimental.  Something  in  her  character  seemed  to  demand  a 
tone  of  remark  which  a  gentleman  (Hector  considered  himself  one) 
could  not,  consistently  with  the  views  of  society,  freely  address  to 
a  stranger  in  her  position.  Thus  conscious  of  awkwardness,  he 
contented  himself  with  a  few  commonplace  observations,  and 
remained  silent. 

Charlotte,  on  her  part,  feared  to  speak,  lest  her  voice  should 
betray  what  he  had  failed  to  discover  in  her  face  ;  and  she  feared 


DOWN   THE    MOUNTAIN.  87 


to  look  towards  him,  lest  something  in  her  expression,  not  beforo 
revealed,  should  give  form  and  substance  to  any  vague  shadow  of 
recognition  that  might  be  flitting  through  his  mind.  Thus  she 
was  chiding  and  torturing  herself  for  having  consented  to  accom- 
pany him,  when  a  catastrophe  occurred,  which  in  a  moment  swept 
away  every  barrier  of  restraint  that  divided  them. 

Mr.  Dunbury  kept  a  farm-boy,  named  Cornelius  Boughton.  His 
familiar  appellation  was  Corny.  He  was  seventeen  years  of  age, 
and  was  distinguished  for  a  meditative  disposition,  and  a  stoical 
indifference  to  the  ordinary  cares  of  life ;  qualities  which,  it  must 
be  confessed,  superficial  observers  were  apt,  indiscriminately,  to 
term  obtu^eness  and  stupidity.  Well,  Corny  had  that  morning 
harnessed  the  horse  for  Hector,  and  placed  him  before  the  buggy. 
He  had  also  discovered  that  the  spring  which  secured  the  eye  of 
one  of  the  traces  in  its  hook  was  loose,  and  might  drop  off.  It  did 
not,  however,  occur  to  him  that  a  few  seasonable  strokes  of  the 
hammer  might  be  of  service  in  preventing  the  dislocation  of 
necks;  nor  did  he  mention  the  circumstance  to  Kecror. 

Hector,  accordingly,  knew  nothing  of  the  danger,  until,  as  he 
was  driving  down  a  gentle  slope,  he  heard  something  rattle  on  the 
ground.  It  was  the  shafts,  which  had  slid  out  of  their  stays,  and 
fallen  down,  in  consequence  of  the  unhooking  of  that  fatal  trace. 
The  horse  jumped;  one  trace  still  held  ;  the. buggy  was  brought 
violently  against  his  gambrels  ;  a  kick  —  a  spring  —  and  in  an 
instant  of  time  the  frightened  brute  was  making  wild,  irregular 
leaps  down  the  declivity. 

Hector  prided  himself  on  his  management  of  horses.  Never, 
with  the  reins  in  his  own  hands,  had  he  met  with  an  accident. 
He  did  not  lose  his  presence  of  mind  ;  yet  clear-headed,  resolute, 
vigilant  as  he  was,  he  could  devise  no  way  of  averting  a  catas- 
trophe. If  he  held  hard  on  the  reins,  he  but  drew  the  vehicle 
more  closely  upon  the  horse's  heels ;  and  to  attempt  to  drive  into 
the  fence  with  the  shafts  on  the  ground,  would  have  been  certain 
destruction.  He  might,  at  the  outset,  have  jumped  out,  and,  by 
tne  exercise  of  superior  agility,  stopped  both  horse  and  wagon  ; 
but  Charlotte  clung  to  his  arm,  and  held  him  fust. 

Hector  had  no  fear  for  himself.     His  only  care  was  for  hia 


38  DOWN    THE   MOUNTAIN. 


companion.  But  for  the  tight  clasp  on  his  arm,  he  would  u.ave 
known  nothing  of  the  terror  that  froze  at  her  heart.  Slv.  did 
not  scream,  nor  speak  one  word,  from  first  to  last ;  and  when,  iii  a 
clear,  firm  voice,  he  told  her  what  to  do,  it  seemed  the  only  \say, 
and  the  right  way,  and  she  obeyed  at  once. 

The  feat  was  difficult  and  dangerous.  Hector  could  not 
assist  her ;  it  required  all  his  skill  to  manage  the  horse,  and  keep 
the  shafts  in  the  track.  Not  until  he  had  given  her  ample  time 
to  save  herself,  did  he  venture  to  look  around.  She  had  climbed 
over  the  seat,  and  dropped  down  behind ;  and  he  had  a  momentary 
glimpse  of  her  lying  upon  her  face  in  the  road,  quite  still,  as  she 
had  fallen. 

All  this  happened  in  scarce  more  than  a  minute's  time  from 
the  dropping  of  the  shafts.  Hector  was  now  travelling  at  a  speed 
that  could  not  last  long.  He  approached  a  curve  in  the  road, 
and  the  track,  which  had  offered  little  impediment  to  the  shafts  thus 
far,  grew  rough  and  stony.  The  buggy  began  to  bound  and  reel ; 
and,  expecting  momently  to  go  over,  he  prepared  to  throw  the  reins 
clear  of  everything,  and  fall  in  as  compact  a  shape  as  possible,  when 
the  crisis  arrived.  Suddenly,  looking  before,  to  calculate  his  ground, 
he  saw  a  man,  scarce  five  rods  distant,  driving  lazily  up  the  moun- 
tain. He  seemed  asleep ;  his  head  was  sunk  upon  his  breast, 
the  reins  hung  loosely  in  his  hands.  Hector  rose  up,  bareheaded, 
his  hair  flying,  and  shouted  the  alarm.  To  the  man,  who  started 
bewildered  from  his  nap,  and  saw  swift  ruin  dashing  down  upon 
him  in  such  a  form,  he  looked  more  like  a  fiend  than  anything 
human.  The  poor  fellow  was  horror-struck.  It  was  too  late  for 
him  to  clear  the  track,  but,  with  the  instinct  of  terror,  he  screamed 
and  shook  the  reins  wildly  up  and  down,  and  finally  threw  his 
hat,  to  turn  aside  the  danger.  The  frantic  animal  sheered  to  tho 
bank ;  the  shafts  struck,  and  flew  to  splinters ;  and  the  buggy, 
hurled  into  the  air,  doubled  together  like  paste-board,  and  came 
down  with  a  crash,  a  mass  of  fragments,  throwing  up  dirt  and 
turf  into  the  very  face  of  the  spectator. 

The  horse  had  cleared  himself  at  a  spring;  but  the  driver  lay 
among  the  ruins.  How  still  everything  was  !  The  man  sat 
shivering  in  hi*  wagon,  and  gazing  with  dumb  amazement  at  the 


DOWN    THE    MOUNTAIN.  89 


wreck,  when  he  saw  something  move.     Over  went  the  broken 
seat,  and  up  got  Hector  from  under  it. 

He  was  a  frightful-looking  object,  covered  from  head  to  foot 
with  dirt,  his  hair  all  over  his  face,  and  one  sleeve  of  his  coat 
rent  away  from  the  shoulder.  At  first  he  looked  vacantly  around, 
knowing  not  at  all  where  he  was  or  what  had  happened;  but 
presently,  spitting  out  a  mouthful  of  earth,  and  putting  his  hair 
from  his  eyes,  be  stared  at  the  heap  which  had  been  a  buggy,  and 
began  to  remember. 

"My  —  everlasting  !"  said  the  ghastly  countryman,  without  stir- 
ring from  his  wagon,  "  I  never  thought  o'  seem'  you  git  up  ag'in. 
I  vow ! " 

"  I  'm  not  hurt !  "  cried  Hector,  still  a  little  wild.  "  Where  is 
she  ?  " —  meaning  Charlotte. 

"  She  's  over  the  crick,  by  this  time  !      Lightning  !    how  sh 
sprung  !  —  She  jest  grazed  my  wheels  !     Lucky  you  smashed  up 
lest  as  you  did,  or  you  'd  a'  tore  me  to  flinders.     What  a  narrer 
'scape  I  had  !  " 

Hector  hastened  up  the  road  to  find  Charlotte.  The  man  sat 
a  few  minutes  longer  in  the  wagon,  contemplating  the  catas- 
trophe and  his  own  "  narrer  'scape,"  when  the  unaccountable 
whim  took  him  to  get  out.  He  walked  around  the  wreck; 
touched  it  with  his  foot ;  lifted  a  cushion  with  his  shaking  hand ; 
dropped  it ;  drew  a  long  breath,  and  said,  "  My  jingoes !  "  with  a 
depth  of  expression  which  seemed  to  afford  him  great  relief. 

Stunned  by  the  fall,  Charlotte  lay  for  some  seconds  in  the 
road ;  then  got  upon  her  feet  and  began  to  walk  very  fast  up  the 
hill,  in  pursuit  of  Hector's  hat.  Reflecting,  suddenly,  however, 
that  she  ought  rather  to  look  after  the  head  it  belonged  to,  sho 
turned,  and,  now  fully  awake,  ran,  in  great  trepidation,  to  learn 
what  had  become  of  Heotor.  She  met  him  coming  up  the  road. 

"  You  are  hurt !  "  she  cried  out,  at  sight  of  him. 

"  Not  a  bit !  "  Hector  declared,  stoutly.  "  I  fell  like  a  foot- 
oall,  and  up  again  at  a  bound  !  " 

"  But  your  face  is  covered  with  blood  ! " 

"  Indeed  ?    I  've  been  wiping  my  mouth  for  something  —  I 
did  n  't  know  what !  " 
3* 


DOWN   THE   MOUNTAIN. 


Charlotte  stanched  the  blood  with  her  handkerchief. 

"  You  're  a  brave  girl  !  I  feared  you  were  hurt !  It  is  worth 
a  kingdom  to  see  you  on  your  feet  again  !  There,  that  will  do, 
—  thank  you  !  " 

"  Your  lip  is  cut !  " 

"  That 's  nothing  !  If  you  are  safe,  it 's  all  I  care  for.  I  tell 
you,"  said  Hector,  "  after  running  such  a  rig,  it 's  rather  exhila- 
rating to  think  there  's  no  damage  done  which  money  and  a  little 
salve  won't  repair !  " 

"  Where  is  your  buggy  ?  " 

"  It  lies  just  below  here,  around  those  bushes.  It  looks  like  an 
Irishman's  shanty  run  into  by  a  locomotive." 

"  And  the  horse  ?  " 

"  Gone  down  the  mountain  !  Poor  fellow  !  I  hope  he  won't 
sill  himself!  But  see,  the  people  in  that  house  are  staring  at 
us.  How  some  people  will  stare,  and  keep  at  a  safe  distance, 
when  others  are  in  trouble  !  These  are  priests  and  Levites,  with 
a  spice  of  curiosity  added  to  their  composition.  Let 's  make 
Good  Samaritans  of  them,  against  their  will,  and  levy  contribu- 
tions of  brushes,  water,  and  towels." 

Hector  misjudged  the  people  in  question,  and  afterwards  asked 
their  forgiveness  in  his  heart.  They  were  poor  women,  very 
much  frightened,  but  willing  enough  to  do,  when  they  knew  what 
to  do.  Hectcr  washed  himself,  combed  his  hair,  and  brushed 
his  clothes,  while  one  of  them  pinned  up  his  sleeve,  and  prepared 
a  plaster  for  his  lip.  Then,  leaving  Charlotte  in  their  care,  he 
returned  to  the  wreck. 

"  I  swanny  !  "  said  the  countryman,  rubbing  his  hands.  "  I 
never  see  anything  chawed  up  like  that  'ere  buggy  !  Both  exes, 
springs,  fils,  box,  seat  —  everything  smashed !  The  wheels,  I 
guess,  are  sound,  and  that's  all." 

"  And  our  necks,"  suggested  Hector. 

"  Did  n't  I  have  a  narrer  'scape  ?  I  can't  help  thinkin'  on  V 
And  the  man  walked  about  the  wreck  again,  chuckling  nervously, 
and  looking  very  pale. 

"  Is  n't  your  name  Cruinlett  ?  " 

"  That 's    my   name  —  ya-a-s  !  "  —  Mr.    Crumlett    stared.  — 


DOWN    THE    MOUNTAIN.  91 


''  Wai !  I  did  n't  know  ye  before  !  You  begin  to  look  like, 
washed  up  !  How  d'e  dew  ?  When  d'  ye  come  to  town  ?  " 

Answering  these  questions  briefly,  Hector  proposed  to  Mr. 
Crumlett  to  carry  him  home. 

"  I  declare,"  said  that  individual,  regretfully,  "  I  don't  see 
how  I  can,  any  way  in  the  world !  I  'in  in  a  desprit  hurry  !  " 

"  0,"  replied  Hector  with  a  quiet  smile,  "  you  are  in  a  hurry  ? 
But  I  should  jxpect,  of  course,  to  pay  you  for  your  trouble." 

Mr.  Crumlett,  on  reflection :  "  Wai,  I  d'  know  —  an  old 
acquaintance,  so  —  p'r'aps  I  might." 

Accordingly  Mr.  Crumlett  took  on  board  the  buggy-cushions, 
with  a  few  other  fragments  of  the  wreck  ;  assisted  his  "  old 
acquaintance  "  to  make  a  compact  heap  of  the  remainder  on  the 
road-side ;  and,  finally,  with  Hector  and  Charlotte  as  passengers, 
turned  his  horses'  heads  down  the  mountain. 

Mr.  Crumlett,  as  it  proved,  not  only  had  time  to  carry  them 
to  their  destination,  but  to  drive  tediously  slow,  at  that.  Gloat- 
ing over  the  accident,  and  chuckling  repeatedly  at  his  own 
"  narrer  'scape,"  he  seemed  entirely  to  have  forgotten  that  he 
was  in  a  hurry.  Occasionally,  at  Hector's  instigation,  he  flour- 
ished his  whip,  and  clucked  a  little  to  his  horses ;  but  those  grave 
animals  were  not  to  be  urged  out  of  their  comfortable  pace  by 
any  such  gentle  means.  Meanwhile,  anxious  to  learn  the  fate 
of  his  own  horse,  Hector  inquired  for  him  on  the  way.  He  had 
been  seen  by  several  persons,  who  described  him  as  going  very 
fast,  with  the  reins  streaming  from  his  back,  and  "  one  tug  whip- 
ping his  side  to  make  him  go  faster."  But  presently  there  came 
a  pedler,  who  had  passed  by  Mr.  Dunbury's  house. 

"  I  have  n't  seen  any  horse  running,"  said  the  itinerant  trades- 
man ;  "  but  I  saw  a  woman  unharnessing  a  horse,  in  a  yard,  back 
here." 

Hector's  spirits  rose.  The  woman  was  Bridget,  and  the  horse 
was  the  runaway. 

"  Blessed  pedler,"  said  he  in  his  heart,  "  go  thy  way,  and  bo 
oappy.  —  Drive  on,  friend  Crumlett !  " 

Mr.  Crumlett  cracked  his  whip  and  clucked  again,  but  to 
little  purpose.  In  the  course  of  time,  however,  the  party  came 


92  DOWN   THE    MOUNTAIN. 


MOUNTA 


in  sight  of  Mr.  Dunbury's  house.  Bridget  stood  in  the  road, 
her  bjoad,  red  face  turned  with  an  expression  of  wonder  towards 
Mr.  Crumlett's  establishment.  Hector  swung  his  hat. 

"  It 's  him  ! "  screamed  Bridget,  dancing  and  clapping  her 
hands,  —  "Mrs.  Dunbury  !  it 's  him,  with  a  good  head  yit  to  wear 
a  hat  on  !  " 

Then  straightway  out  ran  Mrs.  Dunbury,  her  face  white  and 
wild,  hair  dishevelled,  cape  falling  from  her  shouu^rs,  and  threw 
herself  upon  Hector's  neck,  as  he  jumped  from  the  wagon.  A 
few  stifled  words,  a  few  choking  sobs  and  tears,  and,  her  excited 
strength  relaxing,  she  sank  fainting  in  his  arms. 

With  Charlotte's  ready  assistance  Hector  bore  her  into  the 
house.  Presently  her  eyes  opened  languidly,  and  her  grateful 
look  wandered  from  Hector  to  his  companion. 

Danger,  like  death,  is  a  leveller.  It  brings  king  and  beggar 
upon  the  same  human  ground.  From  the  moment  of  peril,  when 
Hector  felt  Charlotte's  womanly  clasp  upon  his  arm,  they  had 
ceased  to  be  strangers ;  and,  still  glowing  with  the  generous  heat 
with  which  her  sympathy  inspired  him,  he  introduced  her  to  his 
mother.  The  latter  extended  her  feeble  hand,  with  a  smile  of 
welcome.  A  tender  chord  was  touched  in  Charlotte's  breast,  and 
she  knelt  humble  and  happy  at  the  invalid's  feet. 

"  God  bless  you,  my  child !  "  said  Mrs.  Duubury,  fervently. 

Hector  inquired  for  his  father. 

"  I  blowed  the  harn  fur  'im,"  cried  Bridget,  "  but  he  did  n't 
coom  yet !  It 's  over  the  creek  I  '11  go  an'  cahl  'im  !  " 

She  ran  out,  and  met  Mr.  Dunbury  in  the  yard,  who  presently 
entered,  with  Corny  at  his  heels.  He  was  an  excitable  and 
impetuous  man,  and  the  girl  had  told  him  just  enough  of  the 
catastrophe  to  make  him  fume.  Hector  hastened  to  explain. 

"  I  might  told  ye  how  't  would  be ! "  said  Corny,  notching  a 
stick  with  his  knife. 

Mr.  Dunbury,  gruffly  :  "  What  do  you  mean  ?  " 

Corny,  drawling  his  words  :  "  Wai,  the  spring  was  loose  that 
held  the  tug  in — and  I  know'd  't  would  be  all  the  time  unhookiu' 
if  ye  did  n't  look  out." 


DOWN    THE    MOUNTAIN. 


Mr.  Dunburj :  "  Did  you  know  no  better  than  to  leave  such  a 
trap  for  breaking  people's  necks  ?  " 

Corny,  phlegmatic  :  "  'T  wan't  my  trap  !  You  told  me  to 
harness  Jerry  to  the  buggy." 

Hector  :  "  Why  did  n't  you  tell  me  the  spring  was  loose  ?  " 

Corny  :  "  'Cause  I  did  n't  think  on  't,  I  s'pose." 

Bridget :  "  That  's  jist  one  o'  Carny's  tricks !  He  'd  know 
nothin'  at  ahl,  if 't  wan't  knocked  out  of  'im."  —  Punching  him 
with  the  broom.  "  Out  o'  the  house  wid  yer  whittlin's.  noo  !  " 

Corny,  pugnaciously  :  "  Come,  stop  !  " 

Mr.  Dunbury  :  "  What  are  you  here  for  ?  Why  don't  you  go 
and  take  care  of  that  horse  ?  " 

Corny  :  "  You  did  n't  tell  me  to  !  " 

Mr.  Dunbury,  recognizing  Charlotte,  uttered  a  sort  of  half  apol- 
ogy, and  welcomed  her  with  high  good-breeding.  But  a  con- 
sciousness of  being  somewhat  carelessly  dressed  appeared  to 
trouble  him  just  at  this  time,  and,  the  moment  her  attention  was 
.withdrawn,  he  took  occasion  to  pull  up  his  limp  dickey,  and 
smooth  down  his  rumpled  shirt  under  the  worn  lapels  of  his  faded 
plush  waistcoat. 

"  Where  are  you  going  ?  "  asked  the  invalid,  clinging  to  Hec 
tor's  hand. 

"  I  am  reminded  that  I  have  left  our  friend  Crumlett  waiting, 
—  and  he  is  in  a  terrific  hurry !" 

"  But  you  must  not  let  him  go  till  after  dinner.  How  kind  it 
was  in  him  to  bring  you  down !  " 

Hector  found  Mr.  Crumlett  sitting  patiently  in  his  wagon, 
•shipping  the  gate-post. 

"  How  much  do  I  owe  you  for  your  trouble,  sir  ?  " 

"Wai,  I  dV  know,  —  guess  fifty  cents  :11  be  'bout  right, — 
won't  it,  hey?" 

Hector  paid  him,  and  asked  if  he  would  stop  to  dinner. 

"Wai,  —  it 's  unexpected,  naow,"  replied  Mr.  Crumlett,  pocket- 
ing the  change,  —  "  like  enough  I  will !  You  can  give  my  team  a 
bite,  I  s'pose'  ?  " 

"  Put  your  horses  in  the  barn,  and  cut  as  much  grass  for  them 
•«  you  choose,"  said  Hector.  "  There  's  the  barn  ;  there  's  the 


94  DOWN    TI1E    MOUNTAIN. 


grass ;  and  there  's  the  scythe,  hanging  in  the  apple-treo.  You 
have  plenty  of  time :  Bridget's  dinner  will  be  ready  in  half  an 
hour." 

"  Wai,  I  don't  mind  waitin'  —  only  git  the  team  a  chawin'  on  to 
suthin' !  Guess  I  '11  back  'em  round  a  little,  and  feed  'em  here  in 
the  shade,  —  may  as  well." 

Mr.  Crumlett  accordingly  staid  to  dinner;  ate  prodigiously; 
told  all  about  the  way  that  buggy  went  to  pieces;  recurred  some 
twenty  times  to  his  own  "  narrer  'scape ;"  and,  on  going  away, 
asked  permission  to  throw  that  "  little  han'ful  o'  grass  "  into  his 
wagon,  —  having  cut  considerably  more  than  his  team  had  had 
time  to  eat.  The  permission  granted,  he  set  out,  well  satisfied 
with  his  fortunes  generally,  and  his  dinner  in  particular,  and  drove 
leisurely  up  the  mountain,  rehearsing  to  himself  a  new  and  more 
startling  version  of  his  adventures,  designed  to  astonish  his  friendd 
at  home. 


IX. 

HECTOR   AND   CHARLOTTE. 

THE  light  of  a  new  morning  has  dawned  upon  Charlotte's  life 
The  past  lies  behind  her  like  a  night  of  troubled  dreams.  A  few 
clouds  of  doubt  and  fear  still  chase  each  other  across  her  sky ;  but 
the  thick  darkness  is  gone,  and  the  young  day  is  fre»h  and  calm, 
and  full  of  promise. 

Not  only  has  the  catastrophe  of  the  buggy  served  to  throw 
open  at  once  a  wide  door  of  sympathy  between  her  and  her  new 
friends,  but  it  furnishes  a  fruitful  and  exhilarating  theme  for  famil- 
iar discussion.  Hector  makes  epigrams  upon  a  certain  leaden- 
hued  contusion  under  Charlotte's  eye ;  upon  his  own  lameness,  and 
the  cut  in  his  lip ;  and  upon  other  pleasing  results  of  the  disaster. 
Then,  to  enliven  a  dull  company  of  evening  visitors,  who  have 
called  in  honor  of  his  return  to  Huntersford,  he  announces  that  he 
will  deliver  an  entertaining  and  instructive  lecture  on  the  subject, 
accompanied  with  music  by  his  mother,  and  illustrated  by  original 
pen-and-ink  sketches.  The  lecture  proves  a  capital  burlesque,  and 
elicits  tremendous  applause.  The  eloquence  of  the  speaker  is 
equalled  only  by  the  originality  of  the  diagrams.  The  first  of 
these  represents  "  Corny  whittling ; "  received  with  roars  of 
laughter.  Next,  "  Corny  brings  Jerry  to  the  door."  Then,  vari- 
ous stages  of  the  catastrophe  are  portrayed,  until  "  Mr.  Crumlett " 
is  introduced  to  the  audience.  At  this  point,  Mr.  Dunbury,  who 
has  preserved  his  gravity  all  along,  forgets  his  dignity,  and  shakes 
with  democratic  fun.  Mrs.  Dunbury  joins  in  the  general  merri- 
ment, —  more  quietly  than  any  of  the  rest ;  but  her  pride  in 
Hector  makes  her  very  happy.  Charlotte's  soft  eyes  glisten ;  and 


96  HECTOK   AND    CHARLOTTE. 


Phoebe  Jackwood,  throwing  herself  upon  her  friend's  shoulder  in 
a  paroxysm  of  mirth,  declares  that  she  "  shall  die  !  " 

Hector  limps  three  weeks  with  his  bruises ;  and  Charlotte  car- 
ries the  dark-colored  mark  under  her  eye  for  nearly  the  same 
length  of  time.  They  condole  with  each  other,  and  laugh  at  each 
other,  until  one  would  judge  them  to  be  friends  of  years'  standing. 

The  invalid's  health  gradually  improves.  Hector  is  a  good 
physician,  Charlotte  a  capital  companion  and  nurse.  But,  not- 
withstanding all  their  care,  Mrs.  Dunbury's  mind  frequently 
relapses  into  despondency,  and  she  believes  death  inevitable, 
unless  the  discarded  doctor  is  recalled. 

It  is  scarcely  possible  for  her  to  abandon  the  stimulus  of  drugs. 
She  would  bs  true  to  her  promise,  and  abide  by  Hector's  treat- 
ment; but  daily,  by  mere  infirmity  of  will,  she  finds  herself  trans- 
gressing his  commandments.  She  carries  magnesia  in  her  pocket, 
and  eats  it  by  stealth.  She  chews  'rhubarb-root,  and  calls  it  sweet- 
flag.  She  swallows  pills  in  her  apple-sauce.  She  entertains  salts 
and  a  teaspoon  in  a  drawer,  concealed  beneath  numerous  strata  of 
folded  apparel,  and  indulges  in  furtive  doses  of  the  same,  ever  and 
anon. 

Hector  perceived  something  of  this,  and,  going  to  his  mother, 
by  the  very  force  of  his  simple  and  earnest  dealing,  compelled  a 
confession.  One  by  one  she  abandoned  all  her  hidden  drugs  to  his 
mercy,  reserving  only  a  modest  lump  of  rhubarb,  and  a  couple  of 
favorite  pills. 

"  But  what  can  I  do  ?  "  she  cried. 

"  When  you  think  medicine  absolutely  required,  call  on  me." 

That  morning  she  ate  the  last  of  the  rhubarb;  the  next,  she 
swallowed  one  of  the  pills,  and  in  the  afternoon  sent  the  other  to 
keep  that  company ;  and,  on  the  third  day,  in  great  extremity, 
she  had  recourse  to  Hector. 

Hector  cruelly  ordered  a  pitcher  of  warm  water ;  and,  from 
that  time,  emetics  of  that  simple  nature  were  the  sole  consolation 
he  would  afford  her,  when  she  hungered  and  thirsted  after  drugs. 
But  nothing  could  be  more  effective  than  this  treatment ;  she 
recovered  her  appetite,  and  soon  her  greatest  anxiety  was  to  have 


HECTOR   AND   CHARLOTTE.  97 


something  delicate  and  nice  for  dinner.  This,  indeed,  became,  foi 
a  time,  the  chief  care  and  study  of  her  life. 

"  Fie,  mother !  "  cried  Hector,  one  fine  morning,  at  the  break- 
fast-table, —  "  these  trifles  are  unworthy  of  us.  We  are  too  much 
like  a  celebrated  old  woman  — 

'  Victuals  and  drink  were  her  chief  diet, 
And  yet  the  old  woman  could  never  be  quiet.' 

For  my  part,  I  believe  we  should  live  upon  something  besides 
victuals  and  drink,  notwithstanding  so  venerable  an  example." 

"  Hunger,"  said  Mr.  Dunbury,  "  knows  no  philosophy." 

"  Nor  is  genuine  hunger  troubled  about  many  things.  It  re- 
ceives its  daily  bread,  and  is  thankful.  In  this  artificial  life,  we 
have  no  conception  what  simple  and  humble  fare  is  all-sufficient  to 
the  natural  man.  What  if  I  should  tell  you  I  know  a  family  that 
eats  worms  ?  " 

Mrs.  Dunbury,  with  a  beseeching  look :  "  Don't,  I  pray  —  at 
the  breakfast-table,  Hector !  " 

Corny,  grinning  over  his  muffin  :    "  A  family  't  eats  worms  !  " 

Charlotte  :  "  I  think  I  know  the  same  family." 

Mrs.  Dunbury:  "Not  in  this  region — not  among  civilized 
peopL  ! " 

Hector,  gravely  :  "  Our  nearest  neighbors,  mother.  In  faith,  it 
Is  a  family  of  young  robins  in  the  tree  before  my  window.  You 
should  see  them  once  !  It  really  looks  quite  human  —  the  beau- 
tiful care  the  old  ones  take  of  their  young.  The  best  of  us  might 
learn  a  lesson  of  them.  The  love,  and  joy,  and  gratitude,  they 
manifest,  seem  to  say,  much  more  plainly  than  our  hollow  words, 
—  especially  when  our  faithless  lives  belie  them,  —  '  Give  us  each 
day  our  daily  bread.'  " 

Mrs.  Dunbury :  "  Do  you  ever  hear  of  young  birds  repaying 
the  care  of  their  parents,  by  feeding  them,  in  return,  when  they 
become  too  old  and  infirm  to  feed  themselves  ?  " 

"  That 's  a  simple  duty,  mother,  which  I  think  no  well-bred  and 
affectionate  robins  would  shrink  from  performing." 

'•  Will  you  be  so  good,  then,  as  to  imagine  some  pretty  exampla 
of  the  kind,  and,  drawing  your  lesson  from  it,  go  down  the  meadow, 
9 


98  HECTOR    AND    CHARLOTTE. 


this  morning,  and  catch  the  famous  pickerel  jour  father  saw  in 
the  river,  yesterday  ?  I  would  like  fish  for  dinner." 

"  I  don't  know,  mother.  The  last  time  I  went  a-fishing,  I 
hooked  a  cruel  hook  through  the  backs  of  little  fish,  and  let  them 
swim  around  in  the  water,  in  untold  anguish,  to  bait  their  big 
brothers  who  came  to  eat  them.  In  the  excitement  of  the  sport, 
—  I  believe  men  call  it  sport,  —  I  had  not  one  merciful  thought 
to  bestow  upon  the  innocent  little  folk  that  had  been  so  unfortu- 
nate as  to  be  caught  out  of  their  native  brook  in  my  basket." 

Corny,  stoically  :  "  I  don't  mind  it 's  hurtin'  'em.  I  like  to 
see  'em  wiggle  !  " 

Hector  :  "  That 's  all  very  nice,  without  doubt ;  but  how  do 
you  suppose  you  and  I  would  feel  with  great  iron  hooks  through 
our  backs,  —  let  down  into  a  city  of  hungry  lawyers,  for  in- 
stance, —  with  some  big  giant  swinging  us  from  the  end  of  a 
long  pole  ?  " 

Corny,  incredulously  :  "  They  c-a-n-'t !  " 

Mrs.  Dunbury  :  "  You  can  catch  the  pickerel  with  a  snare 
That  will  be .  no  greater  cruelty  than  that  practised  upon  the 
worms  by  the  worthy  family  you  speak  of,  and  which  you  thought 
so  pretty  and  commendable." 

Hector  :  "  I  've  no  answer  to  make.  I  'm  going  out  to  show 
the  men  how  to  mow,  this  forenoon ;  and,  if  I  think  of  it,  1  will 
catch  your  pickerel." 

At  nine  o'clock,  Mrs.  Dunbury  looked  out  of  her  window,  and 
saw  the  mowers  in  the  meadow,  with  Hector  at  their  head,  cutting 
into  the  tall  grass  with  uniform  strokes,  and  laying  the  swaths  in 
even  lines  behind  them. 

"  He  has  quite  forgotten  the  pickerel,"  she  said  to  Charlotte. 
"  If  you  should  go  to  the  meadow,  and  carry  him  his  fishing-pole, 
I  am  sure  he  would  ask  no  better  excuse  to  throw  down  that 
dreadful  scythe." 

Charlotte  set  out  with  a  light  heart  to  do  the  errand,  —  imag- 
ining herself  a  native-born  country-girl,  rustic,  happy,  and  free 
from  care,  and  singing  snatches  of  merry  songs  as  she  went. 

She  crossed  the  rotting  timbers  of  the  bridge,  and  approached 
the  mowers  under  cover  of  the  willows  that  grew  around  a  bend 


HECTOR   AND    CHARLOTTE.  99 


in  the  stream.  Birds  fluttered  and  chattered  in  the  bushes  ;  the 
waters  rippled  and  gleamed,  and  leaped,  with  low,  gurgling  laugh- 
ter, over  their  pebbly  bed;  and  the  summer  wind  swept  gently  across 
the  grass,  playing  among  the  leaves,  and  blowing  with  grateful 
coolness  on  her  brow  and  in  her  hair.  0,  she  was  made  for  such 
happiness ;  she  felt  that  the  good  God  loved  her  then,  and  that 
birds,  and  stream,  and  breeze,  and  even  the  soft  haze  that  brooded 
over  the  valley,  and  lay  in  translucent  purple  banks  all  around 
upon  the  mountain  heights,  sympathized  in  the  pure  joy  that  over- 
flowed her  heart. 

Charlotte  trod  quickly  along  the  shaven  turf,  until  she  could  sec 
the  mowers  carrying  back  their  scythes  along  the  level  swaths. 
Hector  marched  at  their  head,  singing  a  negro  melody.  Corny 
brought  up  the  rear,  whittling  his  snath  with  a  jacknife.  Mr. 
Dunbury  and  two  day-laborers  formed  the  body  of  the  force.  Not 
far  off  was  Bridget,  shaking  out  the  new-mown  grass  with  a  fork, 
tossing  it  wildly  about  her  ears,  or  flinging  it  in  great  wads,  here 
and  there,  over  the  meadow. 

Arrived  at  the  edge  of  the  field,  the  men  rested  their  scythes 
upon  the  ground,  and  began  to  whet  them,  having  first  wiped 
them  with  wisps  of  grass.  The  cheerful  ring  of  the  stone  upon 
the  metal  beat  a  measured  accompaniment  to  Hector's  singing, — 
only  Corny  striking  occasionally  a  little  out  of  time.  Charlotte 
paused  involuntarily.  What  trouble  came  up  out  of  the  past,  at 
that  happy  hour,  to  tyrannize  over  her  spirit?  She  stood  hesi- 
tating in  the  meadow,  when  Hector  ceased  singing,  and  called  out 
to  her  with  a  cheery  welcome,  as  he  threw  down  his  scythe. 

"  Le'  me  go'u  ketch  the  pickiril,  if  you  do'  wanter,"  drawled 
Corny. 

Hector  :  "  Would  you  quite  as  lief  do  that  as  mow  ?  " 

Corny,  earnestly  :  "  I  druther ! " 

"  I  have  no  doubt  of  it ;  how  refreshing  it  is  to  hear  j":u  speak 
the  truth ! " 

And  Hector  coolly  walked  off  with  the  fishing-pole,  leaving  the 
chagrined  Corny  to  stare  at  him,  with  perplexed,  and  disappointed 
looks,  over  his  scythe. 

"  You  shall  go  with  me,  Charlotte."     Hector  stepped  to  the 


100  IIECTOR   AND    CHARLOTTE. 


young  girl's  side,  as  she  was  returning-towards  the  stream.  "  The 
fields  are  so  sweet  and  beautiful  to-day,  how  can  you  shut  your- 
self up  in  the  house  ?  " 

The  glance  of  his  eye  and  the  gentle  tones  of  his  voice  stirred 
a  strange  and  happy  emotion  in  her  heart ;  and  she  had  no  power 
to  resist  the  influen.  e  that  drew  her  to  his  side. 

"  Your  pickerel,"  said  Hector,  "  is  the  very  attorney  of  fishes. 
He  locates  his  office  in  some  eligible  spot,  often  among  the  brown 
river-grass,  at  the  mouth  of  some  little  brook ;  and  I  have  no 
doubt  but,  if  we  understood  the  fishes'  language,  or  rather  their 
signs,  we  should  be  able  to  read  over  his  door,  '  PIKE  PICKEREL, 
ATTORNEY  AND  COUNSELLOR  AT  LAW.'  There,  day  after  day,  he 
awaits  his  clients,  who,  never  suspecting  what  a  scaly  fellow  he  is, 
run  into  the  very  jaws  of  danger,  and  are  taken  in  by  him,  before 
they  know  it.  Some  of  the  little  brook-people  are  too  cunning 
and  quick  even  for  his  sharp  practice,  and  escape  in  spite  of  his 
teeth ;  but  generally,  when  he  darts  into  a  school,  he  seizes  at 
least  one  out  of  it,  and,  to  make  a  long  tail  short,  finishes  him  at 
a  bite.  Those  that  run  away  may  be  called  flying-fishes,  while 
those  that  are  taken  become  swallows.  And  so  our  lawyer  flour- 
ishes, until  his  line  of  business  is  interrupted  by  a  line  of  a  dif- 
ferent nature,  and  some  avenging  power,  by  hook  or  by  crook, 
puts  a  stop  to  his  proceedings  with  an  attachment,  —  such  as  I 
am  about  to  try,  in  the  case  of  «ur  neighbor  under  the  bushes, 
here." 

Hector  entertained  his  companion  with  this  sage  dissertation 
upon  the  character  and  habits  of  the  pickerel,  as  they  walked 
along  by  the  willows  and  crossed  the  bridge  together.  On  the 
other  bank  of  the  creek,  they  followed  the  old  wagon  track  up 
stream,  until  they  arrived  at  the  confluence  of  a  brook  that  came 
down  from  the  eastern  hills.  Here,  in  a  quiet  nook,  overhung 
with  bushes,  the  attorney  of  fishes  was  found.  Hector's  eyes 
sparkled,  as  he  arranged  the  fatal  snare. 

"  A  royal  pickerel,  upon  my  word  !  Not  so  large  as  a  shark, 
but  he  '11  do.  Look,  Charlotte,  how  neatly  and  comfortably  I 
elip  the  noose  —  " 

"  I  see  !  "  laughed  Charlotte,  as  the  fish  deliberately  took  hia 


HECTOR   AND    CHARLOTTE.  101 


nose  out  of  the  wire  loop,  and  with  one  stroke  of  his  tail  propelled 
himself  into  a  knot  of  grass. 

"  The  snare  is  a  vulgar  and  inartistic  contrivance  !  "  exclaimed 
Hector.  "  But  I  am  bound  to  see  fins  out  of  water,  at  some  rate  ! 
He  's  a  little  shy,  a  little  conservative,  —  quite  a  prosperous  and 
cautious  fish  ;  but  —  there  's  his  nose,  and  there  swings  the  wire 
under  it." 

At  this  crisis,  Charlotte  could  not  help  reminding  him  of  what 
he  had  preached,  that  morning,  to  Corny. 

"  How  would  you  like  it  yourself,  if  some  superior  power  should 
make  a  man-snare  of  the  north-pole  and  the  equinoctial  line  —  " 

"  Don't  speak  of  such  disagreeable  things  just  at  this  time  !  " 
interrupted  Hector.  "  In  three  seconds  you  may  laugh,  then  we 
will  talk  about  cruelty  to  fishes ;  but  now ;  —  look  out  for  your 
head  ! " 

A  sudden  pull,  —  snap  went  the  pole,  —  and  away  darted  the 
pickerel  up  stream,  with  the  wire  jerked  tightly  under  his  gills, 
and  the  line  streaming  after  him  through  the  water.  He  was  out 
of  sight  in  an  instant ;  but  the  tip  of  the  spruce  pole,  to  which  the 
line  was  attached,  swimming  on  the  surface,  served  as  a  buoy  to 
mark  his  course. 

"  So  much  for  a  short  line  and  a  brittle  pole  !  "  exclaimed 
Hector. 

"  Your  mother  thought  that  line  might  not  answer,  and  gave 
me  another,  —  I  had  quite  forgotten  it,"  said  Charlotte.  "  Hero 
it  is." 

"  But  my  snare  is  gone." 

"  I  can  give  you  a  wire  out  of  my  bonnet." 

The  new  snare  was  scarcely  rigged,  when  the  pickerel,  having 
got  clear  of  his  encumbrance,  reappeared  in  his  favorite  haunt, 
looking  very  impudent,  as  if  he  had  returned  in  a  spirit  of  litiga- 
tion, to  learn  what  it  was  all  about.  Hector,  accordingly,  pro- 
ceeded to  demonstrate  the  matter,  by  adroitly  slipping  a  second 
noose  over  his  gills. 

"  What  an  expression  of  countenance  !  It  says  plain  as  talk- 
ing, « Do  that  again,  and  I  '11  prosecute  ! '  And,  I  presume,  if 
ho  cc.uld  speak,  or  if  we  understood  the  Finnish  dialect,  which 
9* 


102  HECTOR   AND    CHARLOTTE. 


pickerels  may  be  supposed  to  use,  he  would  be  laying  down  points 
of  law  to  us." 

Another  pull,  —  and  his  pickcrelship,  leaping  with  a  sudden 
splash  out  of  the  water,  slipped  from  the  snare  and  fell  flouncing 
in  Charlotte's  lap,  as  she  was  sitting  on  the  grass.  She  flung  him 
off,  with  a  scream ;  and  the  next  moment  he  was  threshing  the 
shallow  water  in  a  small  stone  basin  below,  when  Hector  seized 
him,  and  cast  him  upon  dry  land. 

"  Have  ye  cotcht  him  ?  have  ye  cotcht  him  ? "  cried  the 
excited  Bridget,  rushing  into  the  bushes  on  the  opposite  bank. 
"  Kape  'im !  hould  'irn !  and  I  '11  be  afther  wading  acrost  to 
yez  !  " 

Nobody  observed  her  until,  taking  her  shoes  under  her  arm, 
and  carefully  holding  her  dress,  she  stepped  down  into  the  water 
and  commenced  fording. 

"  Go  back,  you  ridiculous  creature  !  "  cried  Hector.  "  What 
are  you  going  to  do  ?  What  do  you  want  ?  " 

"  It 's  the  big  floppin'  fish  I  'd  be  havin' !  "  said  Bridget.  "  An' 
it 's  br'il  'im  for  dinner  I  will." 

"  Come  around  by  the  bridge,  then,  and  be  respectable,"  said 
Hector.  "  You  're  a  fright,  Bridget !  You  look  like  a  Gothic 
cottage  ! " 

"  An'  where  's  the  harm,  sure  ?  Nobody  tould  ye  to  be  lookin'. 
Ye  might  be  kapin'  yer  eyes  to  home,  jist !  " 

"  But  you  '11  be  drowned,  Bridget !  You  are  not  amphibious  ; 
you  're  not  a  duck,  dear ;  I  can  take  my  oath  you  're  not  web- 
footed  !  " 

At  that  moment  Corny's  grinning  red  face  made  its  appearance 
among  the  willows  behind  her. 

"  Go  it,"  he  cried ;  "  't  an't  deep  !  " 

"  Dape  ?  "  echoed  Bridget.  "  No  more  it  is  n't !  I  've  waded 
this  creek  a  dozen  o'  times,  an'  niver  a  bit  did  I  get  drowuded, 
yit ! " 

"  But  you  never  waded  in  this  spot,"  said  Hector.  "  There  's  a 
deep  place  right  before  you." 

Bridget,  doubtingly  :  "  Miss  Charlit,  is  it  the  truth  he  's  tellin', 

400  ?  " 


HECTOR    AND    CHARLOTTE.  103 


Charlotte  :  "  Can't  you  see?" 

Bridget :  "  Faith,  an'  how  should  I  be  seein',  wid  the  sun  in 
the  wather  dazzlin'  the  eyes  of  me  out  o'  me  head  inthirely  ?  " 

Corny,  vociferously  :  "  Water-snakes,  Bridget ! " 

"  Och,  be  jabbers,  where  ?  " 

"  Right  behind  ye,  here,  streakin'  it  arter  ye  like  blazes !  " 

Bridget,  in  a  fluster  :  "  It 's  lyin'  ye  are,  noo  !  " 

Corny  :  "  I  hope  to  die  !  There 's  one  big  enough  to  swaller 
ye  !  He  's  got  teeth  like  a  pitchfork  !  " 

Bridget,  dropping  skirts  and  shoes  :  "  S'int  Pathrick,  hilp  !  Is 
there  a  snake,  Misther  Hector  ?  " 

Corny,  throwing  a  slab  of  flood-wood  into  the  creek  :  "  There 
he  is  !  he  '11  have  ye  by  the  heels  in  no  time !  Scooter, 
Bridget !  " 

The  panic-stricken  Bridget  plunged  forward,  —  and  downward, 
—  and  under.  For  a  moment  nothing  of  her  was  visible  but  a 
whirlpool  of  skirts  and  a  floating  sun-bonnet ;  then  up  rose  her 
face  like  a  sea-nymph's,  covered  with  weeds  and  hair,  and  drip- 
ping profusely. 

Corny,  yelling  and  clapping  his  hands  :  "  Swim  !  Put  in ! 
He  's  arter  ye  !  " 

Bridget:  "  0,  bloody  murther  !  "  —  blowing  water  out  of  her 
mouth,  and  struggling  for  sight  and  breath.  "  It 's  drownded  I  '11 
be  !  I  'se  kilt  intirely  !  " 

Hector,  extending  his  fish-pole  :  "  Catch  this  !  " 

She  grasped  it  eagerly,  and  Hector  drew  her  to  the  bank.  After 
a  deal  of  struggling  and  stumbling,  she  got  up,  with  the  heavy 
water  pouring  from  her  clothes,  and  looked  around. 

"  Faix,"  said  she,  "  who  is  it  that 's  kilt  ?  Quit  yer  laughin', 
wid  ye,  ye  botherin',  lyin'  spalpeen  of  a  Carny  !  There  's  niver 
such  a  baste  as  a  wather-snake  anywheres  in  the  crick  ;  and 
d'  ye  s'pose  I  did  n't  know  that  ?  It 's  makin'  belave  skeert  I  was, 
ahl  the  time  !  " 

Hector  :  "  And  making  believe  dive,  too,  Bridget !  " 

Bridget,  indignantly  :   "  An'  is  't  that  knocks  such  sights  o'  fun 
out  o'  yez  ?     D'  ye  think  I  care  for  a  thrifle  of  a  wet  foot  ?  " 
But  you  have  lost  your  shoes !  " 


104  HECTOR   AND    CHARLOTTE. 


"  Jist  as  if  't  was  n't  an  ould  pair 't  I  have  cast  away  twice  thisi 
marnin',  an'  picked  up  again  out  o'  pity,  jist !  So  I  tha'ht  I  'd  bo 
afther  lavin'  'em  in  the  crick,  an'  that  would  be  trie  last  of  'em,  bad 
luck  to  'em !  Give  us  yer  pole,  an'  I  be  fishin'  up  my  buunit, 
noo ! " 

Hector  :  "  I  '11  get  it  for  you." 

Charlotte,  with  tears  in  her  eyes :  "  Don't  wait  for  it,  Bridget ! 
.Run  to  the  house !  You  should  always  exercise  after  a  cold  bath  !  " 

Bridget :  "  I  'd  be  exercisin'  that  Carny,  if  I  had  hould  of  'ira 
wonst !  Ye  '11  be  gettin'  yer  pay,  one  day,  ol'  fello' !  " 

Hector,  raising  a  drenched  rag  on  the  end  of  his  fishing-pole : 
"  Here  's  your  bonnet !  " 

"  An'  is  that  my  bunnit  ?  Bad  luck  to  it !  it  might  bother  'ave 
ghane  doon  strame  !  —  Laugh,  thin,  ye  owl  of  a  Carny  !  —  Where  's 
yer  pickerel,  noo  ?  " 

"  Here,  take  him  and  run." 

"  Ouch  !  but  he  '11  be  afther  bitiu'  me  with  that  floppin1  tail  of 
his!" 

"  Put  him  in  your  bonnet." 

"  An'  do  ye  think  I  'd  be  disgracin'  an  illigant  arthicle,  like  this 
same,  wid  his  slippery  carkiss  ?  Here 's  the  thing  that  '11  do 
beautifully.  Wrap  'im  up  in  it,  Misther  Hector." 

Corny,  from  over  the  creek  :  "  Here  !  that 's  my  jacket !  " 

Having  rolled  the  fish  in  the  garment,  —  which  was  one  of 
several,  belonging  to  Corny,  left  lying  in  the  fields  that  summer, — 
Bridget  set  out  for  the  house,  muttering  to  herself,  and  shaking 
her  head  defiantly,  her  wet  clothes  clinging  and  flapping,  and  her 
drenched,  uncombed  hair  streaming  down  her  back.  Meanwhile 
Mr.  Dunbury  was  calling,  impatiently,  to  Corny.  Hector  asked 
the  latter  if  he  heard. 

"  Wai,  I  s'pose  t  do,"  said  that  indifferent  youth,  seating  him- 
self under  the  willows. 

"  Why  don't  you  answer,  then  ?  " 

"  'Cos' ;  I  s'pose  I  did  n't  think  on  't.     I  was  lookin'  at  her." 

Mr.  Dunbury  called  again  at  the  top  of  his  lungs. 

"  W-a-a-a-1 !  "  bellowed  Corny,  "  I  'm  comin' ! ''  and,  taking 
out  his  knife,  he  began  to  whittle  a  dry  stick. 


1IECTOR    AND    CHARLOTTE.  105 


Hector,  severely  :  "  Is  that  what  you  mean  by  comiiuj  ?  " 

Corny  :  "  What 's  the  thunderin'  hurry,  I  'd  like  to  know  1 
Time  enough !  Say,  why  don't  ye  go  up  to  Jackwood's  bridge, 
an'  ketch  some  o'  them  suckers  ?  I  see  a  hull  slew  o'  lunkin'  big 
fellers,  up  there,  t'  other  day." 

Mr.  Dunbury  was  calling  again ;  and,  with  extreme  reluctance, 
young  Master  Boughton  got  up  from  the  bushes,  put  his  knife  out 
of  sight,  and  returned,  lazily,  to  his  work. 

"  Come,  Charlotte,"  said  Hector,  "  let  us  get  away  from  the 
hearing  of  this.  It  makes  my  soul  sick.  —  Let  us  stroll  up  the 
creek,  and  see  about  Corny's  suckers.  Will  you  come  ?  " 

The  fields  lay  fragrant  and  fair  before  her ;  and  to  go  out  there, 
alone  with  him,  into  the  beauty  and  calm  of  the  valley,  seemed  an 
almost  intoxicating  happiness.  Charlotte  hesitated  ;  but  he  said 
"  Come  !  "  again,  so  winningly  and  kindly,  that  she  could  not 
refuse. 

"  You  must  be  responsible  to  your  mother  for  taking  me  away." 

"  Yes,  yes,"  returned  Hector,  with  a  strange  fervor  in  his 
tones,  "  I  '11  be  responsible,  I  '11  be  anything  for  the  sake  of 
your  company." 

"  My  company  ?  "  repeated  Charlotte,  doubtingly. 

Hector  turned  upon  her  a  look  so  radiant  and  tender  that  it 
thrilled  her  through  and  through. 

"  Aside  from  my  mother,"  said  he,  "  you  are  the  only  person  I 
see  in  whose  society  I  take  any  satisfaction  ;  and  you  know  it." 

"  I  know,"  —  Charlotte's  heart  fluttered,  —  "I  know  that  you 
are  often  dissatisfied  and  lonely.  Your  mother  has  observed  it, 
and  it  troubles  her." 

"  0,  my  mother  does  not  understand  me !  And  you  do  not, 
Charlotte." 

"  I  know  I  do  not :  that  is  not  for  me." 

"  Not  for  you,  Charlotte  ?  " 

"  No,  —  I  feel  so  like  a  little  child  beside  you,  always  !  I  am 
glad  when  you  are  happy  ;  I  am  sorry  when  you  are  sad ;  and 
that  is  all  :  I  never  think  of  understanding  you." 

"  My  heart  craves  to  be  understood,  Charlotte  ;  and  you  might 
understand  it,  if  you  would  !  " 


106  HECTOR   AND    CHARLOTTE. 


"I?"  cried  Charlotte,  startled. 

"  You,  better  than  any  one.  I  could  throw  open  all  doors  tc 
you,  but  you  will  not  even  look  into  the  inner  chambers." 

"  It  is  because  I  have  no  right !  " 

Charlotte's  voice  was  low  and  tremulous.  Hector  looked  at  her 
inquiringly,  then,  walking  near  her  side,  took  her  hand  ;  but  she 
withdrew  it  gently. 

"  Who  and  what  are  you  ?  "  he  cried  out,  impulsively. 

"  A  child  —  to  you." 

"  But  children  do  not  do  so  :  children  do  not  keep  us  at  arm's 
length  :  children  are  trusting  and  simple." 

"  I  cease  to  be  a  child  when  you  would  make  me  more  than 
that  to  you." 

"  And  why  not  more  ?  " 

"  I  am  not  worthy." 

"  Not  worthy !  "  Hector  seized  her  hand  again,  and  held  it 
clasped  in  his,  in  spite  of  her.  "  Not  worthy !  0,  Charlotte,  do 
I  not  know  your  heart  ?  " 

"  But  you  do  not  know  my  past !  " 

"  That  has  been  dark,  I  know.  Although  you  have  never  told 
me  of  it,  I  see  something  of  what  you  have  suffered.  But  think 
of  my  past,  Charlotte  J  'T  is  I  who  am  not  worthy  !  0,  the 
rank  weeds  of  passion  I  have  trampled  through  !  They  lie  rotting 
behind  me  now,  and  memory  is  the  wind  that  brings  their 
pestilent  exhalations  to  my  nostrils.  It  is  this  which  makes  me 
sick  of  life." 

"  It  is  that  which  is  purifying  your  life  :  I  have  seen  so  much." 

"  Perhaps,  —  for  remorse  is  very  busy,  ploughing  over  those 
weeds." 

"  And  perhaps  the  soil  of  your  nature  will  be  all  the  richer  for 
them,"  added  Charlotte,  timidly. 

"  If  they  are  ever  subdued,"  said  Hector.  "  You  have  spoken 
wise  words,  and  they  comfort  me  —  a  little.  I  try  to  believe  that 
my  experience  has  been  necessary  and  useful ;  but  since  I  havo 
known  you,  I  have  seen  myself  so  soiled  and  stained,  that  I  have 
thought  there  was  not  rain  enough  in  the  sweet  heavens  to  wash 
me  clcai." 


HECTOR    AND    CHARLOTTE.  107 


"  If  you  had  not  aspirations  above  other  men,  you  would  not  be 
dissatisfied  with  yourself,"  replied  Charlotte. 

"  Your  mantle  of  charity  is  broad,  and  very  grateful  to  the  back 
of  my  offences  !  But  why  do  I  talk  to  you  in  this  way  ?  to  you, 
who,  above  all,  I  am  anxious  should  think  well  of  me  !  Is  it  not 
because  I  want  you  to  know  me,  —  my  weakness  as  well  as  my 
strength,  my  dark  side  no  less  than  my  bright  side,  —  in  order 
that  I  may  have  your  sympathy  ?  " 

"  Re.member —  reflect,"  said  Charlotte,  troubled,  —  "I  am  but 
your  servant." 

"  Servant !  I  hate  the  word  !  It  sounds  too  much  like  slave  ! 
There  is  no  servitude  to  the  soul  but  ignorance  and  passion ;  and 
the  soul  in  you  is  all  I  have  to  deal  with.  Had  I  found  you  in 
the  meanest  capacity,  in  absolute  bondage  even,  it  would  have 
made  no  shade  of  difference ;  still  something  in  your  soul  would 
have  spoken  to  something  in  mine,  —  would  have  called  me 
brother,  and  I  would  have  recognized  my  sister  !  " 

Hector  spoke  with  a  vehemence  that  appeared  to  alarm  his 
companion.  Her  cheek  paled,  and  her  hand  quivered  with  agita- 
tion. 

"  So  let  me  have  no  more  of  that !  "  he  went  on,  smiling  gently. 
"  We  will  put  our  feet  upon  the  false  partition  between  us.  You 
understand  me,  —  I  have  no  thought  of  falling  in  love  with  you ; 
that  is  as  far  from  my  heart  as  Jupiter  from  the  sun." 

Charlotte  laughed  a  sad  and  tearful  laugh,  and  said  there  was 
no  need  of  telling  her  that. 

"  Of  course  not ;  you  are  a  girl  of  sense.  It  is  because  I  can 
put  this  confidence  in  you,  and  know  that  you  will  not  misinter- 
pret me,  that  I  esteem  you  —  that  I  choose  you  for  a  friend." 

"  But  you  have  so  many  old  friends  here,  —  friends  so  much 
worthier  than  I !  " 

"  I  have  not  one  such,  Charlotte.  I  cherish  but  a  shrivelled 
respect  for  the  best  of  them,  —  that  you  know." 

"  And  I  know  that  they  complain  of  you  for  that.  They  were 
once  your  intimates  ;  but  now  you  are  indifferent  to  them.  And 
it  is  you  who  have  changed,  they  say,  —  they  never  change." 

"  True  :  I  have  changed,  I  do  change,  I  hope  always  to  change 


108  HECTOR    AND    CHARLOTTE. 


And  it  is  because  they  never  change,  that  the  grass  has  grown 
between  our  paths.  There  is  Charles  Hart,  for  instance  :  he  was 
the  companion  of  my  boyhood ;  there  was  sympathy  and  con- 
fidence between  us ;  and,  in  all  my  journeyings,  I  never  forgot 
him.  On  coming  home,  I  anticipated  scarce  a  greater  pleasure 
than  that  of  meeting  him.  We  would  measure  experiences,  com- 
pare philosophies,  and  learn  so  much  of  each  other,  I  thought. 
Well,  I  saw  him.  He  was  a  withered  bough  ;  he  bore  no  fruit 
for  me.  His  talk  was  of  oxen.  He  delighted  in  reminiscences 
of  good  horse-trades.  He  told  all  about  Jim  Weston's  fat  hogs. 
Great  stories  he  recounted  of  riding  fractious  colts,  of  breaking 
stubborn  steers,  of  running  tilt  against  pugnacious  rams.  Con- 
versation agreeable  enough  in  its  way,  but  unsatisfactory  on  the 
whole.  In  principles  and  truths  that  were  the  life  of  my  spirit, 
he  confessed  a  total  lack  of  interest.  I  spoke  of  my  poetical 
studies  —  he  had  had  things  of  greater  importance  to  attend 
to.  I  advanced  ideas  on  spiritual  culture  —  he  thought  them 
dangerous  :  he  had  done  up  his  faith  in  the  shroud  of  his  creed, 
folded  his  arms,  and  was  waiting  for  a  resurrection.  When  I 
wished  to  lead  his  mind  towards  the  miracles  of  life  and  growth, 
he  branched  out  on  the  subject  of  onions,  and  told  what  beds  of 
'em  '  me  and  father  '  raised,  last  year.  He  is  but  a  sample  of  the 
rest.  I  am  not  sorry  that  they  find  me  changed." 

"  But  the  young  ladies,"  said  Charlotte ;  "  they  are  not  like  the 
men." 

"  I  hold  not  a  very  plump  opinion  of  them,  either.  Some  of 
them  are  pretty  and  intelligent,  I  allow.  I  find  real  piety  and 
goodness  in  a  few.  But  see  how  they  have  been  educated  !  I 
do  not  complain  of  what  they  have  not  learned,  so  much  as  of 
what  they  have  learned  amiss.  Conventionality  and  expediency 
are  their  two  hands.  The  principal  use  of  their  ears  seems  to  be 
to  catch  the  answer  to  the  important  question  '  What  will  the 
world  say  ?  '  But  the  worst  of  all  is,  they  have  been  taught  by 
their  wise  mothers  to  subordinate  all  their  motives  and  aspirations 
to  a  low  matrimonial  ambition.  This  is,  in  fact,  the  nose  they 
follow,  —  with  one  eye  on  convenience,  the  other  on  respect :tbi lily. 
They  are  so  sharp  in  this  practice,  that  it  is  dangerous  for  an 


IIECTOR    AND    CHARLOTTE.  109 


unmarried  man  to  approach  them.  I  have  known  brave  excep- 
tions, but  the  rule  applies  pretty  generally.  What  wonder,  then, 
that  I  neglect  them  for  you  ?  It  is  refreshing  to  find  one  sensible 
girl,  who  has  no  thought  of  being  fallen  in  love  with  !  " 

"  That  would  be  insane  in  me,  indeed  !  "  said  Charlotte,  smiling, 
but  with  a  strange  emotion  in  her  face. 

"  And  yet,"  cried  Hector,  "  the  idea  is  not  so  absurd  as  you 
imagine  !  But  do  not  fear  !  My  days  of  fancy  are  passed. 
Had  I  seen  you  no  longer  ago  than  when  I  was  in  the  south, 
there  might  have  been  danger  ;  but  there  is  none  now." 

Charlotte  drew  a  long  breath.  Her  countenance  was  downcast 
and  troubled. 

"  That  offends  you,  I  see  !  It  should  not.  Come,  look  up,  — 
smile." 

Charlotte  raised  her  eyes.     They  were  filled  with  tears. 

"  How  have  I  grieved  you  ?  " 

"  You  have  not  —  it  was  nothing  you  said — " 

"  And  yet,"  insisted  Hector,  "  I  touched  some  chord  that  suffer- 
ing has  made  sensitive.  How  you  distrust  me  !  " 

"  I  do  not  distrust  you,"  said  Charlotte. 

"  If  you  did  not,  you  would  tell  me  of  your  sufferings.  You 
would  lift  that  dark  eurtuin  which  hides  your  heart." 

They  had  stopped ;  they  were  standing  by  a  little  runnel  in  the 
meadow.  Hector  held  her  wrist  and  looked  down  earnestly  in  her 
face.  For  a  moment.she  struggled  with  herself;  then  spoke  out, 
hurriedly. 

"  Hector,  you  have  been  true  to  me,  and  I  cannot  deceive  you. 
Let  me  tell  you  this,  then,  once  for  all.  If  you  knew  my  history, 
you  would  put  me  from  you.  It  is  the  consciousness  of  this  that 
shoots  me  through  with  pain,  when  I  remember  myself — you  — 
and  the  gulf  between  us  !  " 

Hector  became  pale  with  apprehension. 

"  Show  me  that  gulf,"  he  said,  with  an  incredulous  smile. 

"No,  —  no,  —  I  have  warned  you  of  the  truth,  —  the  fact  I 
can  never  speak." 

Hector's  brow  was  overcast ;  but,  seeing  how  strangely  sad  and 
fair  she  looked,  with  her  large  eyes  drooping  under  his  searching 
10 


UO  HECTOR   AND    CHARLOTTE. 


gaze,  he  placed  his  finger,  playfully,  under  her  chin,  and  met  her 
upward  glance  with  a  generous  smile. 

"  Pardon  me,"  he  said,  in  a  low,  musical  tone.  "  I  '11  try  not 
to  ask  again  for  what  does  not  belong  to  me.  Forget  it  all ;  and 
we  will  see  now  what  can  be  done  for  Corny's  suckers,  —  for  here 
we  are,  close  by  the  bridge,  and  the  squirrels  on  the  fence  arc 
chattering  at  us." 

But  Hector's  heart  was  no  longer  in  his  sport.  There  were  no 
fish  at  the  bridge  worth  catching,  he  said. 

"  Then  let  us  go  home,"  Charlotte  proposed. 

He  could  not  think  of  that ;  the  charm  of  leading  her  through 
those  sweet  solitudes  was  too  pleasant  to  be  broken. 

"  Do  not  be  faint-hearted,"  said  he.  "  If  we  go  a  little  further 
we  can  pass  by  Mr.  Jackwood's  house,  and,  perhaps,  get  a  glimpse 
of  Phoebe's  bright  face,  on  our  way  home." 

And  Charlotte  still  had  power  to  do  only  what  he  asked,  and 
follow  where  he  led. 


X. 

MRS.  RIGQLESTY'S  ADVENTURE. 

THE  grandmother  of  the  Jackwood  family,  like  the  greatest 
great-grandmother  of  us  all,  was  tempted  by  an  apple.  It  came 
floating  down  Huntersford  Creek,  and  was  discerned  by  the  modern 
Eve,  as  she  walked  upon  the  shore,  filling  her  apron  — not  a  fig- 
leaf —  with  floodwood  fagots  for  the  kitchen  fire. 

"  A  good  nice  June-eatin',  true  as  I  live ! "  said  grandmother 
Rigglesty,  sneezing  at  the  sun  in  the  water.  "  It 's  a  pity  to  have 
it  wasted."  She  looked  about  for  a  long  stick.  "  I  never  see  ! 
Time  an'  ag'in  't  I  've  stumbled  over  sticks  in  this  'ere  shif- 
liss  pastur',  now  I  can't,  for  the  life  o'  me,  lay  my  hand  on 
one ! " 

The  best  she  could  find  was  a  heavy,  crooked  branch,  which 
proved  to  be  some  less  than  an  inch  too  short. 

"  It 's  jest  the  way  alluz  !  "  she  burst  forth,  getting  up  from  her 
bent  posture.  "  Everything  is  so  hateful !  I  've  broke  my  back, 
and  wet  ray  foot,  into  the  bargain  !  Sich  an  awk'ard  stick  !  " 

All  this  time  the  apple,  tossing  in  the  bright  waves  by  the 
shore,  was  progressing  still  further  from  her  own  mouth,  towards 
the  mouth  of  the  creek.  She  followed,  until,  her  eye  resting  upon 
Mr.  Jackwood's  old  flat-bottomed  boat,  she  hastened  to  get  aboard, 
deposited  her  apron  of  fagots  in  the  stern,  which  lay  upon  the 
shore,  and  placed  the  dry  seat  for  a  bridge  over  the  bilge- water 
that  had  settled  in  the  bow.  Upon  this  she  ventured,  armed  with 
her  crooked  branch ;  paddling  patiently  to  divert  the  apple  tow- 
ards her,  until  at  length  she  was  able  to  tickle  it  with  the  tips 
of  her  fingers.  Then,  after  stretching  and  straining  until  she 
became  purple  in  the  face,  she  grasped  it  in  her  hand.  At  th« 


112  MRS.  RIGGLESTY'S  ADVENTURE. 


same  time  she  dropped  the  stick.  Recovering  the  stick,  she 
dropped  the  apple.  Then  she  dropped  them  both.  Regaining  the 
fruit,  she  placed  it  on  the  bow  of  the  boat;  but,  not  feeling  at 
home  on  a  bow  of  that  description,  it  quietly  fell  oft',  whilst  she 
was  recapturing  the  stick,  and  danced  laughingly  away  in  the  sun- 
shine. 

"  Hold  on!  dear  me  !  "  she  cried,  making  a  desperate  effort  to 
recover  it. 

The  attempt  proved  literally  fruitless ;  and,  in  her  vexation,  she 
threw  the  stick  at  it  spitefully.  Having  bespattered  herself  pro- 
fusely, and  lost  both  the  apple  and  the  branch,  she  crept  back 
upon  her  bridge,  with  her  features  all  knotted  up  in  a  snarl,  and 
looked  around  for  her  apron  of  fagots.  To  her  dismay,  she  found 
them  afloat  in  the  bilge-water,  rushing  back  into  the  stern. 
The  boat  was  unfastened,  and,  her  opefations  serving  to  work  it 
off  the  shore,  she  now  saw  herself  sailing  slowly  and  smoothly  out 
iu to  the  stream. 

"  Whoa  !  whoa !  "  cried  grandmother  Rigglesty,  as  if  the  boat 
had  been  a  horse  or  an  ox  ;  "  whoa,  you  sir  !  —  Bim'lech  !  Betsy ! 
My  sakes  !  can't  nobody  hear?  " 

Somebody  did  hear.  It  was  the  dog  Rover,  who  came  capei- 
ing  along  the  bank,  yelping  furiously. 

"  Here,  Rover !  "  she  cried,  —  "  that 's  a  good  doggie  !  Help 
me,  quick ! " 

Perhaps,  anticipating  the  sinking  of  the  boat,  she  looked  for 
salvation  in  his  bark.  But  the  dog  -took  quite  an  erroneous  view 
of  the  case,  regarding  the  call  as  of  an  entirely  sportive  nature. 
Considering  his  gallantry  challenged  to  assist  in  some  wild  fun 
projected  by  the  picturesque  old  lady,  he  leaped  into  the  water, 
and  commenced  a  furious  attack  upon  the  boat,  with  teeth  and 
paws. 

"Git  out!"  ejaculated  grandmother  Rigglesty  —  (he  had  not 
yet  got  in).  "  You  '11  have  me  tipped  over,  sure  's  this  world  !  " 

The  more  she  was  in  earnest,  the  more  Rover  thought  she  was 
in  fun,  and  persisted  in  jumping  aboard  in  spite  of  her.  The  boat 
tipped  frightfully,  and  grandmother  Rigglesty  screamed.  Then 
Rover  shook  himself,  showering  her  with  spray  as  she  sat  perched 


MRS.  RIQGLESTYS   ADVENTURE.  118 


upon  her  plank;  and  she  screamed  again.  Thinking  L  very 
funny,  he  sat  down  good-naturedly  in  the  bottom,  and  looked  up 
wistfully  in  her  face,  winking,  and  churning  in  the  water  with  his 
tail.  In  her  exasperation,  she  began  to  kick  his  chops;  upon 
which  he  showed  a  disposition  to  take  everything  in  good  part,  by 
playfully  masticating  her  foot. 

Meanwhile  the  boat  was  filling  rapidly,  and  threatening  to  go 
down,  with  all  her  crew  on  board.  By  some  good  fortune,  how 
ever,  an  island  appeared,  in  the  shape  of  a  round  bowlder,  in  mid- 
channel  ;  and  as  the  bow  struck  the  rock,  the  old  lady  scrambled 
upon  it,  leaving  her  apron  and  fagots  to  float  down  stream  in  the 
abandoned  wreck.  Rover  appeared  to  consider  this  phase  of  the 
adventure  as  the  funniest  of  all,  and  endeavored  to  enhance  the 
sport  by  crowding  her  off  the  rock,  and  by  growling  and  snap- 
ping at  her  toes  when  she  refused  to  jump  into  the  water. 

At  this  pleasant  juncture,  a  voice  hailed  from  below ;  and  Hec- 
tor and  Charlotte  appeared,  coming  around  a  clump  of  bushes 
that  grew  upon  the  point  of  a  knoll.  Thereupon  Rover,  swim- 
ming to  the  bank,  ran  joyfully  to  his  old  acquaintance,  and 
attempted  to  leap  into  her  face,  with  intent  to  lick. 

"  Go  away  !  "  cried  Charlotte.  "  I  can't  love  you  when  you 
are  so  wet ! " 

So  Rover  shook  himself  again,  and  set  out  to  rub  himself  dry 
on  Hector's  trousers.  But,  being  caught  up  suddenly  by  the  legs, 
he  described  in  the  air,  first  a  half-circle,  then  a  tangent,  then  a 
gentle  curve,  —  and  afterwards  came  up,  snuffing  and  paddling,  in 
mid-channel,  before  he  appeared  to  understand  at  all  the  nature 
of  the  phenomenon  that  had  surprised  him. 

Hector,  to  the  old  lady :  "  What  have  you  .got  there,  grand' 
mother  ?  " 

Old" lady,  crossly  :  "  I  'm  in  a  strait  —  that 's  what  I  've  got ! 
Don't  stop  to  parley ;  but  help  me,  if  you  're  ever  goin'  to !  I 
jest  went  to  git  an  apple  out  o'  the  crick,  when  that  hateful  boat 
had  to  go  off  with  me  !  " 

•'  And  did  you  get  the  apple?  " 

"  No,  T  did  n't !  and  that 's  what  makes  me  so  provoked !  " 

Hector,  gravely :  "  It  might  have  been  expected.  I  onc« 
10* 


114  MRS.  RIGGLESTY'S  ADVENTURE. 


saw  a  juggler  take  an  apple  out  of  an  orange;  but  I  never  yet 
heard  of  any  person  taking  one  out  of  a  current." 

"  I  'm  sure  I  don't  know  a  word  you  're  a  talkin'   about ! 
spluttered  the  old  lady.     "  I  'm  ketchin'  my  death-cold  here,  — 
both  feet  soppin'  wet,  —  I  'd  have  ye  know !  " 

At  this  point,  finding  it  difficult  to  restrain  her  emotions  a< 
sight  of  her  old  friend,  Charlotte  set  out  to  make  the  Jackwoods 
a  visit,  leaving  Hector  to  get  the  cast-away  off  the  rock. 

"  The  trollop  !  "  muttered  grandmother  Rigglesty.  "  I  declare, 
if  she  wan't  la 'fin'  right  to  my  face  !  " 

"What  do  you  say?"  demanded  Hector.  "Take  it  back,  or 
I  '11  not  help  you  out  of  the  creek  !  " 

"  She  'd  no  bizniss  to  la'ft !  " 

"  If  she  is  human  she  could  n't  help  it ;  you  are  a  pleasing 
and  picturesque  spectacle,  grandmother !  But  you  must  be  better- 
natured ;  you  must  be  kind,  and  patient,  and  charitable,  my  dear 
friend." 

"  I  s'pose  I  was  hasty,"  the  old  lady  confessed,  reluctantly. 
"  But  you  need  n't  a'  snapped  me  up  on  't  so  short !  I  did  n't 
mean  no  harm  !  " 

"  That  '11  do  pretty  well  for  a  beginning.  If  you  keep  on,  you 
will  get  to  have  quite  a  Christian  temper,"  said  Hector,  "  by  the 
time  you  are  old."  , 

The  boat  had  gone  aground  upon  a  sand-bar  near  the  bank,  and 
Hector,  reaching  it  with  his  fishing-pole,  drew  it  towards  him,  and 
dragged  it  upon  the  shore. 

"  Cultivate  patience,  grandmother  !  "  he  cried  ;  "  the  craft 
ptands  in  need  of  repairs." 

Having  emptied  the  water,  fagots  and  all,  into  the  creek,  he 
deliberately  set  about  calking  the  boat  with  '"he  old  lady's  apron. 

"  Marcy  on  me  !  "  gasped  grandmother  Rigglesty  ;  "  I  shall 
fly!" 

"  Do  so,"  said  Hector ;  "  and  you  will  save  me  this  trouble.  Be 
careful,  though,  when  you  alight;  you  will  frighten  people." 

As  she  gave  no  decided  indication  of  going  up,  he  went  on  with 
his  calking,  sparing  no  expense  of  time  or  calico  in  stopping  the 
leaks.  Having  accomplished  his  work  to  his  satisfaction,  he 


MRS.  RIGGLESTY'S  ADVENTURE.  115 


.aunched  the  boat;  jumped  aboard  with  his  fishing-pole,  shoved  out 
to  the  rock,  and  brought  the  old  lady  safe  to  land. 

Strange  as  it  may  appear,  she  felt  anything  but  emotions  of 
benevolence  and  gratitude.  Nothing  could  soothe  her  soreness  of 
heart,  and  the  rheumatic  pains  in  her  neck  and  back,  like  the 
balm  of  some  sweet  revenge.  Accordingly,  while  Hector  was 
picking  the  seams  of  her  apron  out  of  the  seams  of  the  boat,  sLe 
commenced  a  similar  operation  upon  Charlotte's  character. 

"  She  's  a  gal 't  means  well,  —  I  can  say  that  for  her,"  sho 
began,  her  fear  of  Hector  preventing  her  from  approaching  the 
subject  too  openly,  —  "  and  when  that 's  the  case,  I  'in  sure  we  'd 
oughter  kinder  lend  a  helpin'  hand  to  anybody,  no  matter  'f 
they  've  ben  the  wust  critturs  't  ever  lived." 

Hector  was  interested ;  but,  pretending  indifference,  he  contin- 
ued to  pick  away  at  the  old  lady's  apron.  She  at  the  same  time 
picked  away  at  Charlotte.  She  told  the  whole  history  of  the  dis- 
guise, and  of  the  young  girl's  exposure,  the  day  before  she  left 
Mr.  Jackwood's.  As  it  was  the  first  intelligence  of  the  kind 
Hector  had  received,  it  troubled  him,  his  mind  naturally  revert- 
ing to  what  Charlotte  had  that  morning  said,  of  her  past  life. 
Mrs.  Rigglesty  perceived  her  advantage,  and  pursued  it  venom- 
ously. She  said  she  had  known  Charlotte  for  more  than  twelve 
years ;  and  that,  on  a  visit  to  her  son  Enoch,  in  North  Nincum. 
where  she  belonged,  she  had  learned  all  about  her  recent  proceed- 
ings. These  had  led  to  the  disgrace  of  her  family,  and  to  her 
own  flight.  The  story  was  one  that  the  old  lady  could  not  have 
invented ;  and  the  confident  manner  in  which  she  identified  Miss 
Woods  with  the  girl  at  North  Nincum  produced  an  overwhelming 
effect  upon  Hector. 

Meanwhile,  in  company  with  the  bitter  old  lady,  he  arrived  at 
the  house.  Phoebe  being  absent,  Charlotte  was  found  in  conver- 
sation with  Mrs.  Jackwood,  who  was  busy  preparing  dinner. 
Grandmother  Rigglesty  moved  by  them  like  a  muttering  cloudj 
dropping  rain  from  her  wet  apron,  which  she  gave  a  final  twist, 
before  hanging  it  upon  the  oven-door  to  dry. 

"  0  !  0  !  "  —  starting  and  clapping  her  hand  behind  her,  — 
"  my  poor  back  !  " 


116  MRS.  RIGGLESTY'S  ADVENTURE. 


Mrs.  Jackwood  ran  to  her  assistance  :  "  I  '11  take  care  o'  that, 
mother  !  "  —  spreading  out  the  apron.  —  "  Sed  down,  Hector,  —  I 
can't  make  it  come  handy  to  call  you  Mr.  Dunbury .  —  Le'  me  take 
off  your  wet  shoes  an'  stockin's,"  —  to  the  old  lady. 

"  No,  never  mind  !  I  can  do  it,  I  gtfess,  —  if  I  can't,  it 's  jest 
as  well.  I  wish  that  door  could  be  kep'  shet  once !  There  's  a 
draft  of  air  comes  right  on  to  my  shoulders  and  neck !  " 

Charlotte  arose  and  closed  the  door.  Hector's  eyes  followed 
her  with  a  searching  look,  which  startled  her,  as  she  turned  and 
caught  his  eye. 

"  0,  don't  trouble  yourself,  I  beg !  "  said  the  old  lady,  as  Mrs. 
Jackwood  insisted  on  removing  her  wet  stockings.  "  'T  need  n't 
inake  a  mite  o'  difference,  jes'  cause  there  's  visitors  here ;  they 
won't  mind  the  looks,  though  you  should  n't  think  I  'm  wuth 
makiu'  a  fuss  over,  —  for  I'm  sensible  I  an't,  myself:  I  've  had 
that  lesson  to  larn  perty  thoroughly  in  my  old  age  !  " 

And,  with  a  disconsolate  air,  grandmother  Rigglesty  fumbled  in 
her  bag  for  the  Good  Samaritan,  and  consulted  him  in  her  trouble, 
as  of  old.  Having  dried  her  eyes,  she  looked  down  and  saw 
Hover  wagging  his  tail,  and  regarding  her  with  an  expression  that 
seemed  to  say,  "  Did  n't  we  have  capital  fun  ?  "  —  upon  which  she 
converted  the  handkerchief  into  a  whip,  and  made  a  sudden  and 
spiteful  cut  with  it  at  the  good-natured  cur. 

"  There !  I  wish  to  goodness  somebody  'd  take  that  dog  and 
chop  his  head  off !  " 

"  Why,  what  has  the  dog  done  ?  "  cried  Mrs.  Jackwood. 

As  she  spoke,  Rover  rallied,  and,  making  a  pounce  at  the  Good 
Samaritan,  seized  him  with  his  teeth  and  paws,  and  began  to 
(hake  and  tear  him,  in  a  prodigious  sham  fury. 

"  You  see  what  he  's  done  !  "  ejaculated  the  old  lady.  "  Gi'  me 
them  tongs  ! " 

Forgetting  her  rheumatism  and  wet  feet,  she  started  from  the 
chair,  and,  with  one  stocking  off,  and  one  stocking  on,  like  "  my 
son  John,"  of  high-diddle-dumpling  memory,  commenced  an  ani- 
mated pursuit  of  Rover  around  the  room.  The  poor  dog  was  at 
last  fairly  cornered,  and  the  forked  thunderbolt  was  about  to  fall 
prone  upon  the  head  and  front  of  his  offending,  when  the  door 


MRS.  RIGGLESTY'S  ADVENTURE.  11' 


was  opportunely  opened,  and  Bim  made  his  appearance,  blus- 
tering. 

"  Here,  Rover  !  "  he  cried,  —  "  cut !  " 

At  the  word,  with  craven  head,  and  tail  depressed,  Rover 
darted  between  the  legs  of  his  young  master,  and  whisked  out  of 
the  house,  while  the  tongs  came  down  upon  the  floor  behind  him 
with  a  jar  which  filled  the  old  lady's  arm  with  stings,  from  the 
fingers  to  the  elbow. 

"  There  !  That 's  all  for  you,  you  good-for-nothing  !  I  've 
broke  my  arm  —  perty  nigh  !  " 

Bim,  undaunted  :  "  You  might  let  the  dog  alone  !  " 

Mrs.  Jackwood  :  "  Bim'lech  !    Bim'lech  !  " 

Bim,  stoutly  :  "  She  begun  it !  " 

Old  lady  :  "0,1  would  n't  interfere  !  Let  him  sass  me  all 
he  wants  to ;  that 's  what  I  was  made  for,  I  s'pose !  It 's  all 
owin'  to  him,  't  I  got  my  feet  wet.  He  left  the  boat  right  where 
he  know'd  't  would  go  off  with  anybody  if  they  jest  stepped  into 
it.  I  never  see  sich*  ugliness !  " 

After  that,  there  was  a  lull,  —  Mrs.  Rigglesty  heating  her  feet 
at  the  stove,  with  now  and  then  a  deep,  prolonged  sigh  of  ostenta- 
tious suffering ;  Bim  looking  sheepish,  and  drumming  on  the 
window,  as  Charlotte  inquired  about  his  health  and  spirits ; 
Hector  twirling  his  hat ;  and  Mrs.  Jackwood  apologizing. 

"  Sakes  alive !  "  suddenly  burst  forth  the  old  lady  ;  "  look  at 
that  shoe  !  I  declare  if  't  an't  comin'  to  pieces  !  Them  new  pair 
't  I  bought  o'  that  plaguy  pedler  o'  yourn,  only  't  other  day,  an' 
paid  ten  cents  more  for  'n  I  ever  pay  for  shoes,  on  account  o'  the 
extry  soles,  an'  now,  the  fust  time  they  git  a  little  grain  wet, 
—  only  look  at  'em  !  " 

"When  you  have  come  to  my  years,"  said  Hector,  "you 
will  have  learned  to  beware  of  extra  pretensions.  As  with 
people,  so  with  shoes.  —  Give  me  a  glass  of  water,  Mrs.  Jack- 
wood,  and  we  will  go  home.  We  are  promised  fish  for  dinner, 
and  I  have  a  foreshadowing  of  thirst." 

"  Our  well 's  give  out,  this  summer,"  said  Mrs.  Jackwood. 
"  Phoebe  's  gone  to  the  spring  for  water,  an'  I  'm  expectin'  her 
back  every  minute." 


118  MRS.  RIGGLESTY'S  ADVENTURE. 


"  She  's  off  readin'  that  nasty  novil,  sornewheres  !  "  spoke  up 
grandmother  Rigglesty.  "  She  's  at  it  every  chance  she  can  git. 
I  'd  burn  it  up,  if  she  was  a  child  o'  mine !  " 

"  If  she  was  a  child  of  mine  "— —  said  Hector. 

Old  lady,  sharply  :  "  Wai,  what  if  she  was  ?  " 

"  Then  you  would  be  my  mother  !  —  Good-by.  —  We  '11  not 
wait  for  Phoebe." 

Old  lady,  muttering  •  "  I  wish  that  door  could  be  kep'  shet ' 
There,  they  're  gone,  artor  so  long  a  time  !  That  Hector  's  jes' 
like  his  father,  for  all  the  world,  —  only  more  so,  if  anything !  " 

Bim,  following  the  visitors  to  the  gate,  gave  vent  to  his  feel 
ings  in  breathing  defiance  against  the  old  lady. 

"  What  are  you  going  to  do  with  that  pipe  ?  "  asked  Charlotte. 

Bim,  desperately:  "It's  hern;  and  I'm  goin'  to  put  some 
powder  in  it,  an'  blow  her  up,  to  pay  her  !  " 

Hector :    "  I  take  it,  then,  she  blows  you  up,  sometimes." 

"  I  don't  care  for  her  !  "  —  Bim  swung  his  head,  with  a  swag- 
gering expression.  —  "I  put  thistles  in  her  h'an'kerchief,  t'  other 
day  !  Golly !  did  n't  she  scream  !  " 

Charlotte,  taking  the  boy's  hand :  "  I  'm  afraid  you  are  not  so 
good  to  her  a*  you  might  be." 

Bim,  earnestly  :  "  Who  could  ?  —  Here,  Rove,"  —  pulling  the 
dog's  ears,  —  "  say  good-by  !  " 

"  Yahowawoooiiii !  "  said  Bx>ver,  compromising  a  howl  with  * 
yawn. 

On  the  way  home,  Charlotte  felt  a  cloud  resting  upon  hei 
spirit.  It  was  heaviest  and  chillest  when  Hector  was  nearest 
Through  it  his  smiles  looked  cold,  and  his  laugh  sounded  hard 
and  hollow  to  her  ear. 

He  appeared  to  notice  her  but  little,  but  went  bowling  large 
stones  along  the  road ;  sometimes  throwing  them  high  in  the  air, 
and  catching  them  dexterously  as  they  came  down. 

"  This  is  life  !  How  we  poor  mortals  toil  and  sweat  over  our 
serious  games  !  And  what  is  the  result  of  it  all  ?  A  little  dust, 
like  that  this  cobble  raises  in  the  road  !  " 

The  missile,  bounding  from  the  path,  leaped  through  the  fence 
into  a  clump  of  bushes,  growing  on  the  other  side 


MRS.  RIGGLESTY'S  ADVENTURE.  119 


"  0  dear  !  0  !  0  !  0  !  "  screamed  a  shrill  voice  ;  and  straight- 
way out  ran  a  wild-looking  creature  into  the  field,  bareheaded, 
with  hair  flying,  and  hands  clasped  over  her  ears. 

"  Ha  !  "  said  Hector,  "  there  's  unexpected  game  !  " 

"  I  am  afraid  she  is  hurt !  "  cried  Charlotte. 

"  Not  she ;  else  she  would  scream  less,  according  to  the  rule  of 
shams.  If  a  man  is  frightened,  he  blusters;  if  hurt,  he  says  lit- 
tie  ;  if  killed,  he  maintains  a  wise  silence.  This  holds  good,  as  a 
general  rule ;  but  perhaps  Phcebe  Jaokvvood  is  an  exception.  — 
Are  you  hurt,  Phcebe  ?  " 

Phoebe  :  "  I  guess  so  !  I  'm  so  scar't  I  don't  know  a  word  I 
do,  or  anything  I  say  !  What  was  that  ?  " 

"  A  hailstone,  Phoebe !  Come  here,  and  let  me  look  at  the 
hole  in  your  head." 

Phoebe,  quickly  putting  up  her  hand :  "  Is  there  one?  Where? 
tell  me ! " 

"  Give  me  your  hand,  and  I  '11  show  you." 

She  ran  up  to  the  fence,  and  Hector  reached  over  to  her.  "  It 
opens  every  time  you  speak.  There  !  "  And,  placing  her  finger 
in  her  mouth,  he  closed  her  teeth  upon  it. 

"  That 's  just  like  you,  Hector  Dunbury  !  If  't  was  anybody 
else,  I  never  'd  speak  to  you  again !  " 

Pouting  a  little,  and  blushing  a  good  deal,  Phcebe  ran  behind 
the  sumachs,  confusedly  putting  up  her  hair  by  the  way. 

"  Is  that  what  you  call  a  hailstone  ?  "  she  cried,  tossing  the 
cobble  over  the  fence.  "  You  threw  it !  " 

"  To  be  sure  ;  and  it  was  a  friendly  hail,  Phcebe.  You  should 
have  hailed  me  pleasantly  in  return,  instead  of  going  off  in  a 
fright." 

"  I  guess  you  'd  'ave  been  frightened  to  have  a  great  rock 
come  thrashing  through  the  bushes  on  to  your  head,  when  you 
was  asleep  !  Would  n't  he,  Charlotte  ?  " 

"  If  anything  could  frighten  him,"  said  Charlotte.  "  What 
book  have  you  ?  " 

"  Alonzo  and  Melissa.  Did  you  ever  read  it  ?  I  wish  I 
hadn't  begun  it,  for  I  don't  like  it  a  bit,  —  but  I  can  't  let  it 
alone  till  it's  finished,  any  way.  I  set  up  till  two  o'clock  last 


120  MRS.  RIGGLESTY'S  ADVENTURE. 


night,  and  got  so  excited  over  it  that  when  I  went  to  bed  1 
could  n't  sleep  a  wink,  but  see  balls  of  fire,  and  heard  doors  slam, 
and  felt  cold  hands  on  my  arm,  all  the  rest  of  the  night ;  and  I  've 
been  so  sleepy  all  day  I  can't  hardly  keep  my  eyes  open." 

Phoebe  handed  the  book  to  Charlotte  through  the  rails ;  then, 
having  passed  her  pail  of  water  over  to  Hector,  and  asked  him 
to  turn  around,  and  not  look,  she  began  to  climb  the  fence. 

Hector  made  a  cup  of  a  basswood-leaf,  and,  having  filled  it  for 
Charlotte  to  drink,  and  afterwards  drank  out  of  it  himself,  shook 
the  water  from  it  into  Phrebe's  face. 

"  You  are  a  dull  girl  to  fall  asleep  over  Alonzo  and  Melissa  ! 
Good-by.  Your  mother  is  waiting  for  you." 

"  Dont  hurry  off  so !  I  would  n't  have  got  over  the  fence,  only 
I  thought  you  'd  stop  and  talk  a  minute." 

"  I  've  no  minute  to  spare.  Time  is  precious,  Phosbe,  and  I 
hear  Bridget  blowing  the  dinner-horn.  Go,  and  take  that  fatal 
stone  with  you,  as  a  keepsake.  It  has  waked  you  from  one 
dream  of  romance  ;  and  it  may  save  you  from  many  another,  if 
you  will  treasure  it  as  a  type  of  man's  heart,  aud  look  at  it 
whenever  you  think  of  falling  in  love." 

"  If  that  is  a  type  of  man's  heart,  what  is  a  type  of  wom- 
an's ?  "  asked  Charlotte. 

"  Still  a  stone,  but  it  should  be  hollow.  And  yet  not  every 
heart  is  so  —  not  every  heart ! "  added  Hector,  in  a  changed 
tone. 

He  walked  away  with  Charlotte  in  silence,  leaving  the  gay 
Phoabe  to  roll  the  cobble  carefully  in  her  apron,  and  carry  it  to 
the  house  with  her  pail  of  water. 

Scarce  another  word  was  spoken  by  either  Hector  or  his  com- 
panion, until  they  reached  home.  Then,  as  they  were  passing 
under  the  porch,  Charlotte,  whose  heart  was  full,  could  restrain 
herself  no  longer. 

"  How  dissatisfied  you  are  with  me  to-day !  "  she  said,  in  a  low, 
tremulous  tone. 

"  "With  all  the  world,  and  with  myself  most  of  all !  "  rojoined 
[lector. 

Charlotte  would  have  asked  "  Why  ?  " 


MKS.  RIGGLESTY'S  ADVENTURE.  121 


"Because,"  said  Hector,  perceiving  her  thoughts,  ."I  have 
made  a  discovery." 

Discovery !  The  word  fell  upon  her  heart  with  stunning 
power ;  for  a  moment  nerve  and  breath  and  strength  were  taken 
away,  and  she  wished  that  she  might  fall  down  at  Hector's  feet, 
and  never  rise  up  more. 

"  It  is,"  he  added,  smiling  bitterly, — "  I  have  left  my  fishing- 
pole  at  Mr.  Jackwood's  !  " 

He  strode  through  the  hall ;  while  Charlotte,  following,  and 
finding  her  way  to  her  room,  sank,  almost  lifelessly,  upon  her  bed, 
and  lay  there  in  trance-like  despair,  until  the  harsh  voice  of 
Bridget  came  to  announce  that  the  pickerel  was  on  the  table,  and 
the  dinner  waiting. 
11 


XI. 

DANGEROUS   SYMPTOMS. 

FROM  that  day  Hector's  conduct  towards  Charlotte  was  marked 
by  strange  inconsistencies.  Sometimes,  spontaneously,  from  his 
lips  the  tenderest  words  fell  like  warm  rain  upon  the  flowers  of  her 
heart ;  then  the  lightning  of  his  wit  flashed  out  upon  her,  sharp 
and  sudden,  from  the  cloud  of  his  bitter  melancholy ;  or  the  cold 
breath  of  his  assumed  indifference  chilled  her  like  the  north  wind. 

One  day,  when  she  had  suffered  extremely  from  his  fitful 
treatment,  Mrs.  Dunbury  called  her  to  her  side.  The  good 
woman  was  reposing  in  her  easy-chair,  and  her  countenance 
beamed  with  a  broken  and  sorrowful  smile  as  Charlotte  drew  near, 
and  seated  herself  at  her  feet. 

"  My  dear  child,"  —  and  the  invalid  laid  her  hand  with  a 
gentle  touch  upon  the  young  girl's  head,  —  "  my  heart  compels 
me  to  speak  to  you  on  a  subject  which  we  have  both  avoided  too 
long.  Let  us  be  true,  let  us  be  friends  indeed,  Charlotte,  if 
not  for  mj  sake  or  yours,  then  for  my  son's  —  for  Hector's."  — 
There  was  a  pause.  Charlotte's  very  soul  stood  still,  and  the 
gilence  seemed  to  ring  as  she  listened.  —  "  You  will  tell  me  if  I 
am  wrong,  but  I  think  —  I  am  sure  —  Hector  loves  you  !  " 

Charlotte  started,  and  gazed  with  a  questioning  look  into  her 
friend's  benignant  face. 

"  If  it  is  so,"  said  Mrs.  Dunbury,  "  I  shall  not  be  displeased. 
Only  tell  me  true." 

"  But  it  is  not  so  !  "  exclaimed  Charlotte,  with  singular  vehe- 
mence. "  He  dislikes  me  !  —  you  know  he  does  !  " 

"  If  you  say  so,  my  child,  I  will  believe  at  least  that  you  think 
80.  But  I  imagined  he  had  made  advances  to  you  — " 


DANGEROUS  SYMPTOMS.  123 


"  Never  !  never  !  " 

"  You  will  pardon  me,  then,  for  troubling  you,"  said  (he  invalid . 
(t  but,  0,"  —  with  starting  tears,  —  "  if  you  bat  knew  how  much  his 
destiny  depends  upon  the  affections  of  his  heart !  I  will  tell  you  a 
feecret,  Charlotte.  There  is  —  it  is  better  that  you  should  know— 
a  taint  in  our  family  of —  hereditary  insanity." 

A  thrill  of  horror  shot  through  Charlotte. 

"lama  mother,"  the  invalid  said,  "  and  I  am,  perhaps,  weak 
and  foolish.  But  this  concerns  you,  and  I  need  your  aid  and 
sympathy." 

"  What  have  I  done  ?     What  can  I  do  ?  "  demanded  Charlotte. 

"  Be  quiet,  my  good  child,  and  hear  me.  I  see  no  safety  for  my 
son  but  in  a  happy  marriage ;  nor  can  I  be  at  rest  until  I  behold  his 
tempest-tossed  passion  anchored  in  some  pure  and  loving  bosom, 
like  your  own.  A  misplaced  affection  is  the  most  I  have  to  fear. 
There,  dear  Charlotte,"  —  the  invalid  dropped  a  tear  on  her  com- 
panion's hand,  —  "I  have  laid  open  to  you  the  most  sacred  apart- 
ment of  my  heart :  you  will  not  profane  the  trust,  I  know." 

For  the  moment,  Charlotte  was  overpowered  with  conflicting 
emotions.  Amazement  and  distress,  not  unaccompanied  by  a  cer- 
tain vague,  fearful  joy,  sent  the  swift  crimson  and  pallor  chasing 
each  other  in  her  face.  Twice  she  attempted  to  speak  ;  then,  sink- 
ing upon  her  knees  before  her  friend,  she  hid  her  face  in  that 
maternal  lap,  and  wept.  Embracing  her,  and  soothing  her  with 
sympathetic  words,  Mrs.  Dunbury  lifted  her  up.  Then,  with  a 
firm  but  gentle  dignity,  Charlotte  spoke. 

"  I  am  grateful,  I   cannot  tell  you  how  grateful,  for  your  kind 
thoughts  of  me,  and  your  good  will !     I  would  lay  down  my  life 
for  you,  and  count  it  as  nothing.     But  I  can  never  be  Hector's  - 
lie  can  never  be  mine  !  " 

"  One  word,"  said  Mrs.  Dunbury,  in  a  faint  voice  ;  "  could  you 
love  him  ?  " 

"  That  is  a  thought  which  even  in  my  dreams  I  have  not 
•  dared  to  entertain." 

"  Ah,  Charlotte  !  I  think  I  read  in  your  heart  what  you  dare 
not  read  yourself.  Cover  it  up,  —  cover  it,  by  all  means,  from 
him,  —  until  he  calls  for  it." 


124  DANGEROUS  SYMPTOMS. 


"  He  will  never  call  for  it !  And  if  he  should,"  exclaimed 
Charlotte,  "  I  could  not  give  it  him  !  I  will  go ;  I  will  leave 
your  house  this  day  !  It  will  be  better  for  me,  —  better  for  you 
and  him." 

Mrs.  Dunbury  strained  her  to  her  bosom.  Charlotte  struggled 
to  free  herself. 

"  You  know  not  whom  you  take  to  your  heart !  "  she  said,  with 
increased  passion.  "  And  your  son,  if  he  has  a  thought  of  love 
for  me,  he  knows  not  how  worse  than  thrown  away  it  is  !  We 
are  divided  by  a  destiny  sharper  than  swords  !  Do  not-  question 
me,  for  I  can  tell  you  nothing.  Because  I  cannot,  —  because,  if 
I  stay,  I  must  conceal  and  deceive  ;  because  I  would  not  repay 
your  kindness  and  trust  by  such  ingratitude,  —  I  will  go,  and  go 
at  once." 

"  No,  Charlotte,  you  shall  stay  !  Keep  your  secret,"  said  the 
invalid,  "  if  you  will ;  but  stay,  dear  Charlotte,  and  you  will  not 
only  confer  a  blessing  on  me,  but  perhaps  save  another  fVom  the 
worst  fate  that  can  befall." 

Charlotte  was  deeply  moved. 

"  No,  no  !  I  must  not,  I  cannot !  Your  love  burns  me  like 
fire!" 

"  Hush  !  "  said  Mrs.  Dunbury.     "  I  hear  his  step." 

Scarcely  had  Charlotte  time  to  regain  her  feet,  when  the  dcor 
opened.  Hector  entered,  and  threw  himself  upon  a  chair,  while 
the  curtains  of  the  recess,  behind  which  she  had  hastily  taken 
refuge,  were  still  rustling. 

"  Where  have  you  been,  my  son  ?  " 

"  Upon  the  mountain,  to  free  my  lungs,  mother.  I  should 
stifle  if  I  did  not  climb  occasionally  above  the  reek  of  human 
breaths.  I  fell  asleep  under  a  tree,  and  waked  to  find  a  wood- 
chuck  smelling  of  my  boot.  The  mantle-hem  of  civilization  lies 
so  thin  and  ravelled  on  that  altitude,  that  the  wild  beasts  have 
not  yet  become  corrupted  by  the  acquaintance  of  man." 

"  How  pale  you  look  !     Are  you  ill  ?  " 

"No,  mother.     I  have  been  fighting." 

"  Fighting,  my  son  !     With  whom  ?  " 

"  With  my  worst  enemy,  dear  mother." 


DANGEROUS  SYMPTOMS.  125 


"  0,  why  do  you  have  these  terrible  struggles  with  yourself?" 

"  Because  I  find  in  myself  that  rebellion  which  is  to  be 
crushed ! " 

"  I  would  you  were  a  Christian  !  "  breathed  the  pious  woman. 

"  I  would  I  were,  mdeed  ;  for  if  I  had  that  grace,  I  might 
convert  another,  —  then  the  world  could  boast  of  two." 

Mrs.  Dunbury  changed  her  tactics  :  "  You  should  be  married, 
Hector." 

"  Why,  so  I  should  ;  and  so  should  every  man.  But  how  much 
easier  it  is  said  than  done  !  " 

"  You  vex  me  when  you  talk  so.  You  might  have  been  married 
five  years  ago." 

"  After  a  fashion,  mother ;  but  I  thank  my  stars  that  my  neck 
escaped  the  yoke ;  for  I  have  iearned  to  prize  in  woman  high 
qualities  never  dreamed  of  in  the  heat  and  passion  of  my  youth. 
What  if  I  were  united  to  such  a  one  as  I  should  then  have 
chosen  ?  "  Hector  shuddered.  "  God  be  praised  for  the  institu- 
tion of  old  maids  and  bachelors,  say  I !  " 

He  took  up  a  book.  But,  having  commenced  to  sound  him  on 
a  subject  near  to  her  heart,  his  mother  pursued  it  still. 

"  You  must  not  look  for  perfection,  niy  son." 

"  I  look  for  nothing,  —  only  for  the  heart  that  can  command  the 
full  power  of  mine." 

"  Need  you  go  far  for  that  ?  If  you  do  not  require  wealth,  or 
position,  there  are  certainly  women  of  soul  —  " 

"  Name  one,  mother  !  " 

"  To  speak  at  random,"  said  Mrs.  Dunbury,  carelessly,  —  "  or, 
rather,  to  commence  nearest  home,  there  is  —  " 

"Charlotte!"  added  Hector,  with  a  smile,  glancing  towards 
the  recess. 

"  Perhaps  she  would  not  have  you,"  said  the  invalid,  with  an 
affected  laugh ;  "but  you  might  make  the  attempt." 

"  Mother,"  said  Hector,  severely,  "  if  you  jest,  your  wit  is  un- 
seasonable. If  you  are  in  earnest,  your  speech  lacks  discretion. 
Charlotte  may  be  all  a  fond  mother  could  wish  for  her  darling  son, 
but  certainly  you  would  not  expect  me  to  marry  her  unless  I 
loved  her." 

11* 


126  DANGEKOUS   SYMPTOMS. 


Mrs.  Duubury's  eyes  glistened.  "  How  can  you  help  loving 
her  ?  " 

"How  can  you  help  loving  —  pickles?" 

"  That 's  a  foolish  question,  Hector." 

"  Or  an  answer  to  a  foolish  question,  dear  mother !  " 

Hector  threw  down  the  book,  and  left  the  room. 

"  Charlotte  !  "  whispered  Mrs.  Dunbury. 

Very  pale,  but  with  a  fair,  calm  dignity  of  mien,  Charlotte 
came  forth. 

"  Did  you  hear  what  was  said  ?  " 

«  I  have  heard  all  r " 

"  And  you  are  not  oifended  ?  " 

"  0,  no,  I  am  glad  !  "  said  Charlotte,  smiling. 

"  And  —  you  will  not  leave  us*?  " 

"  Not  unless  you  wish  it.    I  am  stronger  now,  and  I  will  stay." 

She  spoke  with  her  graceful  form  drawn  up  to  its  full  height, 
with  the  roused  spirit  of  pride  shining  through  her  face,  and  flash- 
ing in  her  eyes. 

At  that  moment  Hector  returned  for  his  hat.  Taking  it  from 
the  table,  he  passed  on,  and  opened  the  curtains  before  the  recess 
where  the  girl  had  stood. 

"  What  are  you  looking  for  ?  "  asked  his  mother. 

"  Excuse  me,  —  but  I  am  trying  to  discover  what  has  made 
Charlotte  grow  so  tall,  and  given  her  so  fine  a  color,  within  the 
last  five  minutes." 


xii. 

THE    WEDDING. 

THERE  was  to  be  a  wedding  in  the  village,  to  which  the  E;m- 
Imrys  were  invited ;  and  it  devolved  upon  Hector  to  represent  the 
family.  To  his  mother's  surprise  and  gratification,  he  engaged  to 
undertake  the  responsibility,  upon  one  condition.  "  Charlotte," 
said  he,  "  shall  go  with  me." 

Charlotte  shrank  from  the  thought  of  seeing  society ;  but  she 
had  no  good  excuse  to  offer —  not  even  on  the  score  of  dress  ;  for 
since  her  residence  with  the  Dunburys  she  had  been  liberally  pro- 
vided for,  in  that  respect.  Notwithstanding,  therefore,  certain 
forebodings  she  had,  she  suffered  herself  to  be  overcome  by  solici- 
tation, and  gave  her  promise  to  accompany  Hector. 

The  ceremony  was  to  take  place  in  the  evening ;  and  in  due 
season  Corny  brought  the  horse  and  buggy  to  the  door. 

"  It  is  a  brave  wedding  we  are  going  to ! "  said  Hector,  as 
he  drove  away.  "  The  fair  young  bride  is  in  her  thirty-fifth  sum- 
mer, —  a  little  gray  and  faded,  but  for  the  virtues  of  a  judicious 
hair-wash,  and  the  excellent  care  taken  of  her  complexion.  When 
I  was  a  school-boy,  aged  ten,  she  was  the  belle  of  the  village,  and 
had  as  many  lovers  as  she  could  count  on  her  fingers  and  toes. 
Old  men  renewed  their  age  to  become  her  suitors,  and  boys,  were 
as  sure  to  fall  in  love  with  her  as  they  were  to  have  down  on 
their  chins.  It  was  expected  of  them,  just  as  we  look  for  measles 
in  children.  I  was  one  of  the  predestinated,  and  at  sixteen  expe- 
rienced two  days  of  excessive  melancholy  in  consequence  of  a 
rejection.  Well,  having  suffered  the  first  and  second  generation 
of  her  admirers  to  pass  away,  she  has  chosen  one  out  of  a  third 
thin  brood  of  weaklings,  who  have  managed  to  get  up  a  feeble 
show  of  lie  ancient  custom,  in  these  latter  davs." 


128  THE   WEDDING. 


Charlotte  hoped  the  bridegroom  was  worthy. 

"0,  he  is  worthy  enough,  —  although,  to  speak  truth,  she 
would  not  have  lowered  even  her  haughty  glance  to  his  level,  five 
years  ago." 

"  Why  will  she  now,  then  ?  " 

"  Because  he  stands  to  her  in  the  interesting  position  of  a  last 
chance  for  a  husband.  And  ii  is  so  very  horrible  to  live  an  old 
maid,  you  know  !  " 

"  But,"  said  Charlotte,  "  it  is  dreadful  —  such  a  union  !  " 

"  0,  it  will  do,  it  will  do,  as  matches  average  !  " 

Arrived  at  the  bride's  house,  Hector  and  Charlotte  were  ushered 
into  the  presence  of  a  large  company  in  a  crowded  apartment,  — 
some  silent,  some  conversing  in  subdued  voices,  and  all  very 
solemn. 

"  If  I  had  never  been  to  a  wedding  before,"  whispered  Hector, 
"  I  should  think  we  had  made  a  mistake,  and  got  into  a  funeral." 

Suddenly  there  was  a  hush,  and  the  happy  pair,  appearing  with 
the  bridesmaids  and  groomsmen,  marched  to  the  place  assigned 
them  in  the  light  of  the  wax  candles.  The  centre  of  observation 
was-  of  course  the  bride.  She  was  of  such  commanding  presence, 
that  the  pretty  Mr.  Creston,  with  his  weak  face  and  slender  shoul- 
ders, seemed  scarce  noticeable  at  her  side. 

"  How  pale  she  looks  !  "  said  Bertha  Wing,  who  sat  with  Mr. 
Rukely,  at  Charlotte's  left  hand.  "  What  a  strange  brightness  in 
her  eye ! " 

Hector  turned  with  a  smile  which  sent  the  blood  tingling  to 
her  cheeks. 

"  She  is  taking  her  last  look  at  her  bright  ideal,  Bertha.  Or 
perhaps  the  phantoms  of  a  thousand  old-time  lovers  are  flitting 
between  her  and  the  light." 

Bertha,  troubled  :  "  She  will  be  happier  when  it  is  all  over." 

Hector  :  "  So  you  may  say  of  a  drowning  man  !  " 

Mr.  Rukely,  mildly  :  "  Let  us  have  charity  !  " 

Hector :  "  Amen,  with  all  my  heart !  Yet  it  stirs  the  gall 
within  me,  to  see  a  woman,  capable  of  loving,  desecrate  the  sanc- 
tity of  her  soul  by  mumbling  vows  with  one  utterly  powerless  to 
call  her  passion  out !  " 


THE    WEDDING.  129 


Bertha,  becoming  suddenly  pale  as  the  bride,  looked  hastily 
around,  to  see  if  the  remark  had  been  overheard.  Mr.  Rukely 
smiled  benignly,  and,  making  a  sign  for  silence,  directed  attention 
to  the  ceremony. 

This  was  performed  by  a  staid  old  clergyman  of  the  village, 
who  married  the  happy  couple  fast  and  strong,  and  blessed  the1 
union.  Congratulations  and  kisses  followed ;  and  at  length 
refreshments  were  introduced, — jellies,  nuts,  coffee,  and  several 
kinds  of  costly  cake,  all  very  fine  and  very  indigestible,  together 
with  a  feast  of  reason,  to  which  the  company  was  invited  by  the 
bridegroom's  uncle.  He  was  a  wrinkle-browed,  snuff-taking,  old- 
fashioned  individual,  with  a  wise  grimace,  spectacles,  and  stiff 
iron-gray  hair  stuck  up  all  over  his  head. 

"  My  daughter  Etty,"  said  he,  enunciating  with  slow  precision 
"  has  prepared  a  poetical  address,  appropriate  to  the  occasion, 
which  she  will  proceed  to  deliver.  —  Etty  !  " 

A  girl  of  thirteen,  with  a  large  forehead  and  great  eyes,  sup 
posed  to  be  a  genius,  stepped  forward  promptly. 

"  It 's  all  her  own  composition,"  remarked  the  child's  mother, 
by  way  of  prologue.  "  She  wrote  it  without  any  assistance." 

"  Mrs.  Greenwich,"  interrupted  her  husband,  with  lofty  disap- 
probation, "  I  am  talking  now  !  Daughter  !  "  —  raising  his  hand, 
—  "  one,  two,  three,  —  begin  !  " 

At  the  word,  Etty  rattled  away,  like  a  militia  company  firing  at 
command,  with  a  volley  of  blank  verses  levelled  at  the  newly- 
married  pair. 

Mother,  parenthetically  :  "  Not  quite  so  fast,  daughter." 

Father,  severely :  "  I  '11  dictate,  if  you  please,  Mrs.  Green- 
wich !  " 

The  lady  nodded  deferentially.  Etty  went  on,  holding  her 
hands  stiifly  folded  across  her  lap,  and  looking  down,  as  if  reciting 
to  the  carpet.  The  substance  of  the  poem  was,  that  the  happy 
pair  were  a  strong  oak  and  a  graceful  vine  yoked  together  in  the 
car  of  matrimony,  and  sailing  over  a  sapphire  ocean,  in  a  little  Eden 
of  their  own,  full  of  flowery  fountains,  rainbows,  the  prodigal  son, 
and  the  wise  virgins  with  the  oil  in  their  lamps.  Quite  a  round 
of  applause  greeted  the  conclusion. 


130  THE    WEDDIXO. 


"  I  want  you  all  to  understand,"  said  the  mother  of  the  genius 
"  that  the  poem  was  composed  in  one  hour  and  forty  minutes  —  * 

"  Mrs.  Greenwich  !     I  was  about  to  speak  !  " 

Mrs.  (>.,  meekly  :  "  0,  certainly  !  " 

Mr.  G. :  «  Daughter  !  " 

Young  genius,  prettily  :  "  What,  father  ?  " 

"  I  want  you  to  recite  the  last  part  again,  commencing  at  the 
line,  '  There  Flora  spreads?  and  let  your  voice  rise  at  '  spanyled 
graves.'  Slowly  and  distinctly." 

Encouraged  by  the  praises  already  bestowed,  Etty  repeated  the 
concluding  lines  with  improved  confidence,  and  won  additional 
applause.  The  bride,  who  had  borne  up  under  the  infliction  with 
smiling  patience,  thanked  the  little  prodigy  for  her  compliments 
and  good  wishes,  and  asked  for  a  copy  of  the  verses. 

"  A  copy  for  me,  too,  Etty,"  said  the  bridegroom. 

Blushing  bridesmaid  :  "I  speak  for  a  copy  !  " 

Two  or  three,  in  a  breath :  "  Me,  too,  Etty  !  " 

Chorus  of  voices  :  "  Wonderful  genius  !  "  —  "  Be-e-c-eautiful !  " 
-  "  Sweet  pretty  !  "  —  "  Ought  to  be  printed  !  " 

Mr.  Greenwich  :  "  Daughter,  what  have  you  got  to  say  ?  " 

Young  genius,  ready  with  a  speech  :  "  I  thank  you  all  very 
kindly  for  your  good  opinion  —  " 

Mrs.  Greenwich,  in  a  whisper  :  "  Go  on,  —  what  is  it  about 
talents  ?  " 

"  If  God  has  seen  fit  to  endow  me  with  talents,  I  ought  not  to 
take  any  credit  to  myself,  but  show  my  gratitude  by  trying  to 
make  a  good  use  of  them.  At  the  same  time,  I  trust  my  friends 
will  be  less  ready  to  praise  than  to  tell  me  of  my  faults." 

More  applause.  Little  prodigy's  head  quite  turned.  Mrs.  G. 
excited  and  silly.  Mr.  G.  prosy  on  the  subject  of  his  daughter's 
talents. 

Bertha,  holding  Etty's  hand  :  "  Come  and  see  me,  and  I  '11  give 
you  a  pretty  subject  for  a  poem." 

Hector :  "  Come  and  see  me,  and  I  '11  give  you  something 
better." 

Young  genius,  with  a  curtsey :  "  Thank  you !  May  I  ask 
what  it  would  be  ?  " 


THE    WEDDING.  131 


Hector  .  "  Some  good  advice." 

Young  genius  :  "  I  suppose  you  do  not  like  my  poetry,  then." 

"  My  child,"  said  Hector,  kindly,  drawing  her  towards  him,  "  I 
like  you"  —  he  dropped  his  voice  —  "much  better  than  I  like 
your  verses.  You  can  afford  to -let  me  say  so  much,  can't  you, 
since  everybody  else  is  praising  them  ?  You  said  your  friends 
were  to  tell  you  of  your  faults ;  and  if  you  would  like  to  have  me 
mention  one  little  one,  to  begin  with  —  " 

The  genius  repulsed  him  peevishly,  and  went  pouting  to  her 
r  )ther. 

Mrs.  G.,  resentfully  :  "  What  have  you  been  saying  to  her  ?  ' 

Hector  smiled :  "  The  truth,  simply.  Is  she  so  unaccustomed 
to  the  taste  of  that  article,  that  it  bites  her  tongue  ?  " 

There  was  a  good  deal  of  disapprobation  expressed,  in  an  indi 
rect  way,  against  Hector's  proceeding,  generally  by  those  whc 
experienced  a  secret  joy  at  the  young  prodigy's  discomfiture. 

"  And  you,  Charlotte,  —  you  blame  me  with  the  rest  ?  " 

"  Were  you  not  a  little  cruel  ?  "  answered  Charlotte. 

"  Charlotte,"  —  a  deep  emotion  struggled  in  Hector's  voice.  — 
"  I  could  endure  that  every  person  here  to-night  should  misjudge 
me,  malign  me,  think  me  ill-natured  and  egotistical,  except  you  !  " 

The  young  girl  felt  a  joyous  thrill.  Why  was  it?  Had  she 
not  believed  and  preached  to  her  poor  heart,  night  and  day,  that 
there  was,  there  coull  be,  no  one  single  slenderest  tie  of  sympathy 
between  her  and  Hector  ? 

"  I  was  cruel,"  said  he,  "  because  I  would  be  kind.  And, 
believe  me,  to  wound  the  poor  child's  feelings  as  I  did,  was  the 
hardest  thing  I  have  had  to  do  for  weeks,  —  except  when  I  have 
so  often  wounded  yours !  " 

"  You  thought  it  necessary  to  give  me  pain !  " 

"  Yes,  —  and  no.  I  cannot  explain  now.  I  have  wronged  you  ! 
Not  so  much  in  my  acts  as  in  my  thoughts.  I  have  so  much  to 
say  to  you  !  " 

Charlotte  could  not  speak  one  word.  She  could  not  raise  her 
eyes.  The  sound  of  Mr.  llukcly's  voice  recalled  her  to  herself. 
He  had  taken  Hector's  place  at  her  side.  But  his  words  rustled 
merely,  ind  fell  away  from  her  like  husks.  He  left  her  to  giv« 


132  THE    WEDDING. 


room  to  others.  Already  her  rare  graces  had  made  her  the  centre 
of  an  admiring  circle,  and  frivolous  young  men  brought  compli- 
ments to  purchase  her  smiles.  Their  commonplace  prattle  wearied 
her;  it  co^t  an  effort  to  treat  them  with  civility;  and  she  was 
glad  when  the  arrival  of  an  unexpected  guest  occasioned  a  whirl 
of  interest,  which  left  her,  for  a  moment,  free  to  follow  her  own 
thoughts. 

Her  mind  was  with  Hector.  Amid  all  the  throng  and  buzz,  she 
saw  his  form  and  heard  the  music  of  his  voice  alone.  Until  ONE 
came  between  her  and  him.  It  was  the  new  guest.  She  saw  the 
two  shake  hands  with  a  certain  freedom  which  betokened  old 
familiar  acquaintance.  She  saw  the  new  face,  she  heard  the  new 
voice,  she  felt  the  new  presence,  with  a  sudden  overwhelming 
shock.  What  followed  she  knew  not,  until  she  found  herself,  all 
unnerved  and  shaken,  clinging  to  the  door  of  the  dressing-room, 
whither  she  had  instinctively  fled. 

It  was  a  small  apartment,  with  a  bed  at  one  side,  covered  with 
bonnets  and  shawls,  and  a  bureau  opposite,  on  which  there  was  a 
lamp  burning  dimly  in  the  gloom.  In  utter  helplessness,  she  sank 
upon  a  chair.  But  a  rustling  of  the  bed-curtains  warned  her  that 
she  was  not  alone.  Among  the  garments  thrown  upon  the  side 
of  the  bed,  an  object  moved,  arose,  and  turned  upon  her  a  child's 
face,  with  eyes  that  shone  large,  and  red,  and  swollen,  in  the  dull 
light  of  the  lamp.  It  was  Etty,  the  genius. 

"  Have  you  seen  him  ?  "  she  asked,  timidly. 

Charlotte  controlled  as  well  as  she  could  the  agitation  of  her 
heart,  and  said,  kindly,  "  Have  I  seen  whom  ?  " 

"My  brother  Robert.  I  had  been  crying;  and  he  always 
used  to  dislike  me  when  I  cried,  —  so  I  ran  in  here.  He  has 
been  away  a  year;  and  I  have  wanted  him  to  come  home  so 
much  !  But  he  won't  care  to  see  me,  —  do  you  think  he  will  ?  " 

The  child  seemed  to  cling  to  Charlotte  for  sympathy  an<| 
help.  She  was  a  child  indeed  then.  The  genius  and  the  prod 
igy  had  disappeared.  The  hard  shell  of  affectation,  in  which 
her  young  nature  was  cased,  was  burst  by  the  swelling  of  her 
heart. 

"Yes,"  —  Charlotte  scarce  knowing  what  she  said,  —  "Iain 
sure  ho  will  be  glad  to  see  you,  —  if  he  is  your  brother." 


TIIE    WEDDING.  133 


"  But  he  never  answered  my  letters,  and  I  wrote  him  such  long 
ones,  and  took  so  much  pains  with  them  !  I  wish  you  would  go 
out  with  me  to  see  him  !  " 

"  0,  no,  —  that  would  do  no  good  !  All  your  friends  are  out 
there;  and  I —  I  am  a  stranger  to  all  of  you,  you  know." 

"  I  don't  care  ;  you  don't  seem  so.  I  'd  rather  you  would  go 
with  n:c,  than  mother,  or  father,  or  any  of  them.  I  can't  tell 
why,  but  you  make  me  feel  so." 

Charlotte  took  the  child  in  her  arms,  and  pressed  her  close. 

"  You  are  a  good  girl,"  said  she,  "  and  I  'm  sure  your  brother 
can't  help  loving  you,  if  you  are  always  simple  and  true." 

"  He  says  I  am  so  odd !  " 

"  Perhaps  that  is  because  you  try  too  hard  to  be  a  lady,  and 
are  not  enough  a  child.  But  no  matter  now.  Go  out  and  see 
him.  And  —  would  you  be  afraid  to  speak  to  Mr.  Dunbury  ?  " 

"  He  did  n't  like  my  poetry  !  "  said  the  child,  quickly. 

"  Perhaps  the  fault  was  as  much  in  your  poetry  as  in  him," 
suggested  Charlotte. 

"  I  know  it  was !  They  were  silly  lines,  and  I  never  will  write 
any  more  as  long  as  I  live  !  " 

"  0,  yes,  you  will  write  more,  —  and  write  a  great  deal  better 
for  what  he  told  you.  I  know  he  meant  it  kindly." 

"  I  will  speak  to  him,  if  you  wish  me  to,"  said  Etty,  thought- 
fully. 

"  And  say  that  I  am  here,  and  would  like  to  see  him." 

The  child  was  glad  to  do  anything  to  oblige  her  new  friend ; 
and,  having  dried  her  eyes,  and  made  Charlotte  tell  her  again 
that  her  brother  would  be  glad  to  see  her,  she  went  timidly  forth. 

Left  to  her  own  thoughts,  Charlotte  endeavored  to  be  calm. 
She  felt  a  powerful  impulse  to  tell  Hector  everything,  throw  her- 
self upon  his  mercy,  arid  then,  if  he  cast  her  from  him  —  Cast  hci 
from  him  !  The  thought  chilled  her ;  and  when,  at  length,  she 
heard  a  hand  on  the  latch,  she  shrank  within  herself,  and  would, 
if  possible,  have  fled  even  from  his  sight. 

But  the  comer  was  not  Hector.     It  was  Etty  again. 

"  I  dropped  my  handkerchief,"  said  the  child,  getting  down  to 
look  for  it  on  the  floor. 
12 


134  THE    WEDDING. 


"  Here  it  is,  by  my  feet."  Charlotte  took  it  up,  and  gave  it 
her. 

Etty,  wiping  her  eyes  :  "  Thank  you.  I  told  Mr.  Dunbury,  and 
he  said  he  would  come.  I  saw  Itobert,  too ;  but  he  only  just 
looked  at  me,  and  went  on  talking  and  laughing  with  the  rest,  as 
if  I  was  nobody  !  I  don't  care  now  !  He  hates  me,  and  I  might 
have  known  he  would." 

At  that  moment  Hector  entered.  Etty  tried  to  escape,  but  he 
caught  her  in  his  arms. 

"  Do  you  dislike  me  very  much  for  what  I  said  ?  " 

She  hid  her  face  ;  and  Hector  kissed  her  forehead. 

"  I  believed  that  you  had  a  true  heart,  and  a  real  desire  to  do 
well,"  he  said,  kindly  ;  "  so  I  thought  it  best  to  tell  you  of  your 
faults,  in  order  that  you  might  correct  them.  You  must  bo 
patient  and  humble,  and  aim  at  something  more  excellent  than 
indiscriminate  praise,  if  you  would  have  your  wings  grow  out 
beautiful  and  strong.  You.  have  wings;  but,  0,  you  only  flatter 
with  them  a  little  now,  instead  of  flying  into  the  very  dome  of 
heaven,  as  your  flatterers  would  have  you  think.  This  is  what  I 
wanted  to  say  to  you ;  now,  if  you  dislike  me  for  it,  I  am  very 
sorry." 

Hector  kissed  her  again,  and  told  her  that  she  might  go.  How 
noble  and  good  he  seemed  to  Charlotte  then  !  Etty  felt  comforted. 
He  had  touched  a  chord  that  had  never  been  touched  before. 

As  he  was  about  to  speak  again,  the  door  opened.  A  qualm 
smote  Charlotte's  heart,  as  she  heard  once  more  the  tones  of  that 
dreaded  voice. 

"  Ah  !  here  is  the  fugitive  !  "  The  speaker  paused  at  the  door. 
Charlotte  felt  cold  from  head  to  foot.  But  she  did  not  stir,  nor 
raise  her  eyes,  nor  betray  any  sign  of  emotion,  save  in  the  pallor 
of  her  face.  —  "I  beg  pardon  !  "  —  smiling  and  bowing.  "  Is  that 
you,  Hector?  Who  would  have  thought  of  stumbling  upon 
yru  here?  I  suppose  I  ought  to  know  that  lady,  too  —  but  — 
such  a  dim,  religious  light  —  excuse  me,  —  I  was  looking  for 
that  choice  sister  of  mine." 

He  patted  Etty's  cheek,  —  at  the  same  time,  his  keen  eyes 
glancing  at  Charlotte. 


THE   WEDDING.  135 


"  We  have  just  been  getting  a  little  acquainted,"  said  Hector, 
giving  Etty  into  her  brother's  arms.  "  She  is  too  good  a  heart  to 
be  a  sister  of  yours." 

"  So  our  beloved  mother  says  !  She  thought  I  hurt  your  feel- 
ings, just  now,  sis,  and  sent  me  to  ask  your  forgiveness." 

"  0,  no  —  you  did  not  —  " 

"  She  has  scolded  me,  too,  for  not  answering  your  letters.  You 
did  n't  mind  that,  though,  —  for  you  knew  I  never  liked  school- 
girl compositions.  Come,  don't  pout !  I  was  in  hopes  you  had 
outgrown  your  odd  ways.  Is  this  lady  your  friend,  too  ?  " 

Etty,  struggling  from  him,  reached  the  door  and  escaped.  He 
followed  her,  pausing,  as  he  went,  to  apologize  once  more  for  his 
intrusion.  Then  Hector,  impatient,  closed  the  door,  and  returned 
to  Charlotte's  side. 

"  What  is  this?  Why  are  you  so  pale?''  He  gave  her  his 
hand;  but,  rising  up,  she  tottered  to  the  window.  "Charlotte, 
what  can  I  do  for  you  ?  " 

"Take  me  home  —  let  me  see  no  one  —  say  that  I  am  ill. 
When  I  am  calm,  I  will  tell  you.  Be  my  friend  —  until  then  !  " 

"  Till  then  —  and  forever  !  "  exclaimed  Hector.  "  Trust  in  me  ; 
lean  upon  my  arm ;  and  the  world  shall  wrench  my  life  out,  be- 
fore I  will  let  you  go.  Sit  here  till  I  come  back.  Courage,  dear 
heart,  courage ! " 

She  made  haste  to  find  her  things  and  put  them  on ;  and  by 
the  time  he  returned,  she  was  ready  to  accompany  him.  They 
went  out  together  unobserved.  His  buggy  was  at  the  door ;  he 
helped  her  in ;  then,  seated  by  his  side,  with  the  darkness  of  the 
road  before  them,  the  lighted  windows  behind,  and  the  silence  and 
the  starlight  all  around,  the  excitement  which  had  nerved  her 
flight  subsided,  and  she  sank  helpless  as  an  infant  on  his  arm. 

At  length,  putting  his  arm  gently  away:  "How  inconsistent  I 
nm.st  appear  to  you  !  Still  you  have  patience  with  me !  " 

"Patience,  Charlotte?  For  weeks  I  have  studied  you  with 
jealous  eyes.  •  If  ever  soul  read  soul,  mine  has  read  yours,  — and 
I  am  satisfied.  I  wronged  you  once,  as  I  told  you.  You  had 
slandered  yourself  in  my  ear ;  and  it  was  my  fortune  to  hear  an 
evil  report,  that  I  construed  into  an  interpretation  of  what  re- 


186  THE    WEDDING. 


mained  unexplained  in  your  words.  Twill  not  repeat  what  was 
told  me  ;  I  am  ashamed  to  confess  the  source  from  which  it  came  ; 
—  but,  Charlotte,  it  was  by  the  very  strength  of  my  interest  in 
you  that  I  became  so  weak." 

"Perhaps  you  were  not  weak  —  perhaps  you  saw  me  better 
then  than  you  do  now." 

"  Stop  !  "  said  Hector.  "  No  more  self-slander.  I  know  you, 
Charlotte.  13y  treating  you  harshly, —  by  appearing  cruel,  bitter, 
disdainful, —  I  have-  discovered  the  depth  and  sweetness  of  your 
nature.  What  inward  conflicts  have  heaved  and  torn  me,  the 
while  !  O,  Charlotte,  if  you  knew  !  But  no  more  of  this.  I  see 
you  crushed  to-night  beneath  a  burden;  let  me  first 'take  that 
away,  —  then  we  can  talk." 

"  Not  now  —  my  tongue  is  numb  !  —  To-morrow  —  " 

"  To-morrow  we  may  have  no  opportunity.  I  expect  com- 
pany." 

"Company  ?" 

"  After  I  left  you  in  the  dressing-room,  Robert  Greenwich  got 
me  by  the  button,  and  told  me  he  should  try  to  call  to-morrow 
afternoon  :  he  will  probably  be  with  us  at  tea." 

Hector  went  on  talking,  but  Charlotte  heard  no  more.  She  did- 
not  answer  when  he  spoke  to  her.  At  length  she  repeated,  va- 
cantly, "  At  tea  ?  Did  you  say,  to-morrow  ?  " 

"  Your  mind  is  on  some  other  subject.  Let  Robert  Greenwich 
go.  He  is  nothing  to  you  or  me,  to-night." 

"  Did  he  —  did  he  speak  —  of  me  ?  " 

"  He  apologized  again  for  intruding  upon  us,  and  said  he  hoped 
to  incut  you  to-morrow." 

That  she  had  been  recognized  by  the  man  she  dreaded,  Char- 
lotte could  no  longer  doubt.  She  tried  to  tell  Hector  all  her  fear 
and  despair;  but  misgivings  chilled  her  heart,  and  sealed  her  lips, 
and  sent  her  to  her  lonely  room,  that  night,  with  the  heavy  secret 
•jf  her  life  still  pent  up  in  her  soul. 


XIII. 

THE   VISIT   AND   THE   EXCURSION. 

THE  next  morning,  Abimelech  Jackwood  the  younger  made 
an  early  call  at  Mr.  D  anbury's  house.  He  found  the  family  at 
breakfast. 

"  Good-morning,  sir  !  "  cried  Hector.  "  Corny,  give  the  young 
gentleman  a  seat." 

"  Can't  stop  !  "  said  Bim,  standing  bashfully  in  the  door.  "  I 
come  over  to  see  —  git  out,  Rover !  —  if  Charlotte  don't  wanter 
go  up  on  the  hill  to-day,  with  Pheeb." 

A  gleam  of  hope  shone  upon  Charlotte's  heart. 

"  To  see  Bertha  Wing  ?  " 

"  Yes,  1^  b'lieve  so.  —  Here,  Rove  !  lay  down  !  —  Pheeb 's  ben 
lottin'  on  an  all-day  visit  up  there,  's  ever  s'  long,  and  she  said  you 
'greed  to  go  with  her.'' 

"  But  you  are  so  poorly  this  morning,  Charlotte  !  "  said  Mrs. 
Dunbury.  "  Conscientiously  as  you  have  endeavored  to  eat,  you 
have  scarce  tasted  a  morsel." 

Hector :  "  And  we  are  to  have  company,  you  remember." 

"  But  I,"  said  Charlotte,  quickly,  —  "I  would  prefer  not  to 
meet  strangers.  I  would  enjoy  the  ride,  and  a  quiet  visit  with 
Phoebe  and  Bertha  —  " 

Mrs.  Dunbury  :  "  Do  as  you  please,  then." 

Charlotte  glanced  at  Hector.  His  countenance  was  overcast, 
but  he  raised  no  further  objection  to  the  plan ;  and  accordingly 
word  was  sent  back  that  she  would  accompany  Phoebe. 

Miss  Jackwood  made  her  appearance  in  the  one-horse  wagon, 
at  about  nine  o'clock.  She  drove  old  Dan,  —  quite  a  conserva- 
tive and  phlegmatic  nag,  — whom  she  found  it  necessary  continu- 
12" 


138  THE    VISIT    AND    THE    EXCURSION. 


ally  to  urge  forward,  by  means  of  a  little,  stumpy  whip.  An  ive<? 
within  speaking  distance  of  Mr.  Dunbury's  gate,  the  sober  animal 
came  to  a  dead  halt.  "  Go  'long  !  "  ejaculated  Phoebe. 

Dan  did  not  stir.  Mortified  at  the  awkwardness  of  the  circum- 
stance, occurring  at  a  moment  when  she  so  much  desired  to  make 
a  smart  appearance,  she  wielded  the  whip  vigorously. 

The  first  blow  fell  short;  th?  second  raised  a  dust  on  the 
horse's  rump,  and  the  third  made  him  whisk  his  tail  a  little. 
After  that,  she  bent  forward,  and  laid  on  and  spared  not,  until, 
starting  on  with  a  groan,  he  stopped  before  the  gate. 

The  delay  had  given  Charlotte  time  to  put  on  her  bonnet,  and 
she  now  came  out,  ready  for  the  ride. 

"  I  was  afraid  you  would  n't  go,"  said  Phoebe ;  "  but  I  was 
feeling  so  vexed  about  the  wedding,  last  night,  I  meant  to  make  a 
visit  somewhere,  to-day,  any  way.  Bim  said  you  expected  com- 
pany. Who  's  coming  ?  " 

"  Mr.  Greenwich,  I  think." 

"  Not  Robert  ?  Has  he  got  home?  I  should  think  you  'd  like 
to  stay  !  I  '11  stay  with  you,  and  make  you  a  visit,  to-day,  if  you 
want  me  to.  Or,  I  '11  tell  you  what !  have  Kobert  and  Hector 
come  up  and  take  tea  with  us !  —  You  tell  'em,  Mrs.  Dunbury  !  — 
I  bet  they  will !  Won't  it  be  grand  ?  " 

How  pale  Charlotte  looked ! 

"  Don't  forget,  Mrs.  Dunbury  !  —  Go  'long,  ol'  Dan  !  —  I  'm 
ashamed  of  my  driving  !  The  calves  chawed  the  whip  to  pieces, 
t'  other  night,  and  this  is  all  there  is  left  of  it ;  and  Dan  's  the 
laziest  horse  !  —  Come,  do  step  !  — 'If  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Charles  Cres- 
ton  git  invited  to  my  wedding,  I  guess  they  '11  know  it !  I  '11  let 
'em  understand  one  thing  —  I  don't  care  if  I  was  n't  asked  :  it 
han't  hurt  me  a  bit;  for  I  don't  consider  it  anything  worth  mind- 
ing at  all !  " 

Phoebe  seemed  so  desirous  of  enforcing  this  fact  upon  her  com- 
oanion's  mind,  that  she  never  ceased  to  chatter  about  it,  until 
they  had  made  the  ascent  of  the  hill,  and  arrived  at  Mr.  Wing's 
house.  Charlotte  liked  that  topic  as  well  as  any  ;  all  she  wished 
was,  that  Phoebe  should  do  the  talking,  and  leave  her  to  her  own 
thoughts. 


TIIE   VISIT   AND   THE   EXCURSION.  139 


Bertha  received  her  visitors  cordially;  grandmother  Wing 
joining  to  give  them  a  hearty  welcome. 

"  Why,  how  you  have  altered  !  "  said  the  old  lady,  with  smil- 
ing good-nature,  to  Charlotte.  "  You  've  smarted  up  amazin',  I 
do  declare !  I  knowed  't  was  in  ye  to  do  it,  when  I  spoke  for 
you  to  Hector ;  but,  re'ly,  I  'm  the  least  mite  took  back  to  see  you 
lookin'  so  very  nice  an'  handsome  !  " 

Phoebe  had  brought  her  knitting ;  Charlotte  had  some  sewing  ; 
and  all  settled  quietly  down,  to  work,  and  talk,  and  visit,  until 
near  dinner-time,  when  Bertha  went  out  to  assist  the  kitchen-girl, 
and  to  give  the  finishing  touch  to  the  table. 

Just  as  they  were  sitting  down  to  the  noon-day  meal,  Mr. 
Ilukely  called,  and  sat  down  with  them.  Mr.  Wing  was  also 
present,  —  a  man  of  solemn  aspect  and  stiff  opinions,  of  whom 
Bertha  stood  very  much  in  awe. 

The  dinner  was  a  prim  and  formal  affair ;  everybody  silent  or 
restrained,  as  was  to  be  expected ;  only  the  old  lady  indulging  in 
a  little  geniality,  while  Phoebe  now  and  then  burst  forth  with 
some  refreshingly  spontaneous  remark. 

"  0  dear  !  "  exclaimed  the  young  girl,  after  dinner,  "  I  'm  so 
tired  of  behaving  well !  Do  le's  have  some  fun  !  Mr.  Ilukely 
will  excuse  us." 

Mr.  Ilukely,  turning  over  the  leaves  of  an  annual :  "0,  cer- 
tainly." 
•     Bertha  :  "  What  do  you  want  to  do  ?  " 

Phoabe,  throwing  down  her  knitting :  "  I  don't  care  what ;  but 
I  shall  die  if  I  don't  do  something  !  Come,  le's  make  cheeses  !  " 

Bertha,  blushing  and  shaking  her  head :  "  'Sh !  Not  before 
him  ! " 

Charlotte :  "  If  we  take  a  walk,  perhaps  Mr.  Ilukely  will  ac- 
company us." 

Mr.  Ruke'y  :  "  With  pleasure." 

Phcebe  :  "  Hurra  !  " 

Bertha  :  "  We  '11  want  our  bonnets,  girls." 

Phoebe  :  "  I  'm  glad  you  spoke,  for  I  don't  know  half  what  I 
am  about !  May  we  be  wild,  Mr.  Rukely  ?  " 

Mr.  Ilukely,  indulgently  :  "  As  wild  as  you  please." 


140  THE    VISIT    AND    THE    EXCURSION. 


Phoebe  :  "  That 's  good  !  When  we  get  out  of  sight  and  hear 
ing  once,  if  I  don't  scream  !  Which  way  are  you  going  ?  " 

Mr.  Rukely  :  "  Shall  we  take  the  road?  " 

Charlotte :  "  The  woods  will  be  pleasanter ;  the  road  is  too 
tame." 

Phoebe  :  "  0,  yes !  we  can  chase  and  romp  in  the  woods,  and 
have  such  a  slick  time!  Mr.  Rukely  will  let  down  the  bars  for 
us.  What  do  you  say,  Bertha  ?  " 

Bertha  :  "  Any  way  will  suit  me.  Only  don't  be  too  rude,"  — 
aside  to  Phoebe,  —  "  for  I  don't  know  just  what  he  will  think." 

Phoebe,  recklessly  :  "  Come  on  !  I  '11  be  cap'n  !  How  good  it 
feels  ou'  doors !  I  want  to  fly  !  Let 's  go  'way  off  on  the  moun- 
tain, and  look  down  towards  our  house.  I  wish  Hector  and  Rob 
Greenwich  was  here!  don't  you,  girls?  If  we  had  a  spying-glass 
we  might  see  'em  !  It 's  so  mean  I  wan't  invited  to  the  wedding  ! 
but  I  'm  glad  of  it !  Don't  let 's  go  through  the  briers." 

Bertha :  "  There  's  a  path  somewhere.  0,  here  it  is !  'T  will 
take  us  right  to  the  cedar  woods." 

Phoebe  ran  on  before,  talking  gayly.  Suddenly  she  flew  back, 
with  terrified  cries. 

Bertha  :  "  Why,  what  —  what  is  it  ?  " 

Phoebe,  shudderingly  :  "  Ugh-h-h-h  !  A  gr-e-a-t  bi-i-ig  sna-a- 
ake  !  " 

Mr.  Rukely,  smiling :  "  You  should  learn  to  overcome  the 
serpent."  Taking  up  a  stick  :  "  Where  is  he  ?  " 

Phoebe  :  "  It  was  crawling  off  from  the  log.  I  should  think  it 
was  forty  or  fifty  feet  long  !  " 

Bertha  :  "  Don't  go  near  it !  " 

Mr.  Rukely  :  "  The  serpent  is  the  only  living  thing  I  feel  in 
duty  bound  to  hate,  abhor,  and  kill !  " 

He  advanced  resolutely.  Charlotte  turned  and  looked  off  on 
the  mountain  side.  Bertha  watched  her  lover  tremblingly,  while 
Phoebe  stood  ready  to  run  and  scream. 

Mr.  Rukely  paused,  lowering  his  stick ;  the  sternness  of  his 
features  relaxed  into  a  somewhat  pallid  smile,  and  he  called  his 
companions  to  advance. 

Phoebe  :  "Is  it  gone  ?  " 


THE    VISIT    AND    THE    EXCURSION.  141 


Bertha :  "  Have  you  killed  it  ?  " 

Mr.  Rukely  lifted  something  with  his  stick.  Bertha  and  Phoe'ja 
shrieked  simultaneously.  Charlotte  still  looked  away. 

Mr.  Rukely :  "  I  did  not  know  before  that  log-chains  were  so 
formidable  !  "  He  dropped  the  clinking  links  upon  the  ground. 
Bertha  drew  a  long  breath,  and  tried  to  laugh. 

Phoebe,  excited :  "  But  there  was  a  snake ;  I  declare  I  saw 
one!  I 'm  as  sure  it  moved  as  I  am  that  I  stand  here?  0, 
dear !  "  she  added,  as  the  party  proceeded  farther  into  the  woo'ds, 
"  what  did  we  come  in  here  for  ?  These  cedars  are  such  hateful 
things  !  " 

Charlotte  :  "  I  think  they  are  beautiful.     I  love  the  gloom." 

Bertha  :  "  I  hope  you  don't  love  the  mosquitos  !  I  am  eaten 
up  by  them  !  " 

Mr.  Rukely :  "  It  seems  to  me  we  are  going  into  a  swainp. 
The  air  is  close  and  sultry.  Shall  we  turn  about  ?  " 

Bertha  :  "  There  's  an  ox-path,  somewhere,  that  branches  off 
towards  the  fields.  I  believe  this  is  it,  though  it  looks  dreadfully 
wild  and  lonely  !  " 

Phoebe  :  "  It  seems  like  Sunday,  in  here  !  Let 's  get  out  of  it ! 
Mercy !  how  I  am  bitten !  0,  what  noise  was  that  ?  Seeing 
that  horrid  snake  makes  me  nervous  as  I  can  be  !  Every  stick  is 
a  snake,  now  ;  and  I  have  heard  a  dozen  wild-cats  since  we  came 
in  here.  You  go  ahead,  Mr.  Rukely.  We  '11  follow,  if  it  is  to 
the  jumping-off  place  !  " 

The  party  came  out  upon  a  high  pasture-land.  Further  on  was 
a  deep  gulf,  defended  by  impenetrable  thick  growths  of  bristling 
poplars  and  young  spruces,  and  overhung  by  a  precipitous  crag. 

Phoebe :  "  Hurra  for  a  climb,  I  say  !  We  can  see  all  ovjr 
creation  from  up  there.  Who  '11  be  at  the  top  first  ?  " 

Mr.  Rukely  and  Bertha  recoiled  from  the  enterprise;  but  Char- 
lotte, eager  to  lose  herself  in  any  excitement,  seconded  Pboene, 
and  the  party  made  the  ascent  of  the  crag. 

Bertha  :  "  All  this  part  of  the  mountain  was  overrun  by  fire,  a 
few  years  ago.  These  rocks  were  singed,  as  if  for  our  especia 
benefit.  Look  off  in  the  valley  now." 

Charlotte  :  "  Wonderful !  " 


142  THE    VISIT    AND    THE    EXCURSION. 


Phoebe  :  "  I  can  see  our  house ;  and  there  's  Bim  driving  the 
cows  to  water !  They  look  like  so  many  black  ants,  and  he  like  a 
little  red  one  !  " 

Mr.  Eukely  :  "  The  season  has  been  so  dry  that  the  country  has 
lost  half  its  beauty.  How  dead  the  forests  down  there  appear ! 
Besides,  there  is  too  much  smoke  in  the  air  to-day." 

Charlotte  :  "  The  smoke  has  a  beauty  of  its  own.  It  gives 
such  a  soft  blue  tint  to  everything !  How  still  and  sweet  the  vail:  y 
lies,  in  the  dim  sunshine  !  The  smoke  is  the  soul  of  the  landscape 
to-day." 

Bertha  :  "  What  a  ghastly  sky  !  The  sun  is  blood-red.  Was 
that  thunder  ?  " 

Mr.  Rukely  :  "  I  see  no  clouds.  Perhaps  the  money-diggers 
are  blasting  again  on  the  Eagle  Rocks." 

Phoebe  :  "  I  thought  I  saw  Rob  Greenwich  and  Hector;  but  it 
is  only  a  couple  of  horses  fighting  flies  by  the  fence.  Let 's  roll 
down  rocks.  Here  goes  one  !  "  The  missile  dropped  from  ledge 
to  ledge,  and  leaped  among  the  crackling  thickets  below.  "  Did 
you  hear  it  ?  0,  Mr.  Rukely,  help  me  tumble  off  this  big  one  ! 
Where  's  a  pry  ?  "  picking  up  a  charred  sapling.  "  There,  I  've 
got  my  hands  all  black  !  Never  mind.  Give  me  a  lift !  " 

Mr.  Rukely  condescended,  and  a  minute  later  the  loosened  rock, 

toppling  on  the  verge  of  the  cliff,  turned  lazily  at  first,  then  rolled. 

then  bounded,  then   thundered  and  plunged,  snapping  and   tram- 

.  pling  the  brittle  poplars,  until  the  noise  of  its  crashing  died  away 

in  the  depths  of  the  gulf. 

There  was  something  startling  in  this  invasion  of  Nature's 
solitudes  with  violence  and  unusual  sounds.  Phoebe,  excited  by 
the  sport,  detained  Mr.  Rukely,  to  set  off  another  flying  rock, 
while  Charlotte  and  Bertha  found  an  easy  place  of  descent,  and 
went  down  from  the  crag. 

"  I  hear  the  trickling  of  water,"  said  Charlotte ;  "  but  we  can 
neither  reach  it  nor  see  it,  for  the  thickets.  I  am  thirsty,  and  my 
forehead  and  hands  are  parching/' 

"The  gulf  opens  below  here,"  replied  Bertha,  "and  a  brook 
runs  out  into  the  maple  grove,  down  yonder.  Hark  !  There  goes 
Miiother  stone . " 


THE    VISIT    AND    HIE   EXCURSION.        '  14? 


"  Happy  Phoebe  !  see  her  clap  her  hands,  on  the  ledge  !  " 

"  But,  while  she  laughs,  you  only  sigh,  Charlotte.  And  I  syni 
pathize  most  with  you.  How  I  have  wanted  to  be  your  friend, 
and  to  have  you  mine  !  Let  us  go  down  into  the  ravine,  here,  and 
be  true  and  free  with  each  other  once." 

"  They  are  coming !  " 

"  We  will  hide  away  from  them.  0,  see  where  the  brook  dripa 
over  the  rocks !  How  cool  it  is  down  there !  If  we  can  get 
through  the  bushes  —  " 

"  We  can,"  said  Charlotte.     "  Here  is  an  opening." 

"You  will  fall!"  cried  Bertha.  "Let  me  hold  your  hand 
until  you  get  your  foot  firmly  upon  the  rock.  I  've  torn  my 
dress;  but  we  are  through  the  worst  of  it  now.  What  delicious 
beds  of  moss !  The  brook  is  almost  dry,  and  we  can  go  down 
these  rocky  steps  until  we  come  to  the  grove." 

"  Let  us  sit  here,  and  rest,  and  bathe  our  foreheads,"  replied 
Charlotte. 

"  Let  me  bathe  yours  for  you !  But  it  is  not  bathing  that  will 
cure  the  pain.  There  is  a  fever  which  only  tears  can  cool.  I 
know  from  experience." 

"  You,  Bertha  ?     You,  so  fortunate  and  happy  !  " 

"  0,  Charlotte,  you  do  not  know  me  !  Fortunate  and  happy  — 
with  this  weak,  inconsistent  heart  of  mine !  Dear,  dear,  dear  !  " 

"  Hark  !     Phoebe  is  calling  us,"  said  Charlotte. 

"Do  not  answer.  It  is  a  relief  to  get  away  from  them  for  a 
little  while.  I  want  to  talk  with  you." 

"  My  head  feels  better.  How  kind  you  are,  Bertha  !  There  is 
a  magnetism  in  your  hand,  that  removes  the  pain." 

"  It  is  your  tears,"  said  Bertha.  "0,  if  I  could  be  your 
friend  !  " 

"Bertha,  good  Bertha  —  I  have  not  a  friend  in  this  wide,  wide 
world  !  I  know  not  one,  not  one  whom  I  can  trust." 

"  Not  even  me  !  "  said  Bertha. 

Her  sympathy  wrought  powerfully  upon  Charlotte,  who  opened 
her  heart  to  her  more  and  more,  and  appeared  almost  ready  tc 
pour  out  to  her  the  whole  history  of  her  life. 

Mr.  Rukeiy,  from  above  :  "  You  are  pretty  truants !  We  have 
called  and  hunted  for  you  everywhere.  It  is  going  to  rain." 


144  THE    VISIT    AND    THE    EXCURSION. 


Bertha  :  "  Will  you  share  our  shelter  with  us  ?  " 

Phoebe  :  "  O  le's  !     I  want  to  wash  the  crock  off  my  hands." 

Mr.  Rukely  :  "  You  are  responsible  if  we  get  wet." 

Bertha  :  "  We  can  go  down  through  the  maple  grove,  then 

return  home  by  the  lower  pasture,  and  avoid  the  swamp." 
Phoebe  :  "  And  the  mosquitos  and  snakes !     So  le's  !  " 
"  Another  time,"  whispered  Bertha,  pressing  Charlotte's  hand. 
The  party  descended  through  the  ravine,  stepping  upon  decayed 

ings,  mossy  banks  and  stones,  and  rocks  encrusted  with  dry  slime. 

At  length  the  bushes  and  saplings  gave  place  to  the  tall  trunks  of 

maples  and  beeches,  and,  in  a  convenient  spot,  they  climbed  up  into 

the  grove. 

"  Why,  how  dark  it  is  !  "  cried  Phoebe.     "  0,  come  here !  see 

through  the  trees  !     What  a  frightful  cloud  !     Don't  it  look  awftu 

through  the  smoke  !     I  'in  glad  I  an't  a  Millerite  !     Did  you  hear 

that  gun?" 

Mr.  Rukely  :  "  There  's  somebody  hunting,  just  over  the  hill." 
Phoebe:  "I  shouldn't  wonder  if  'twas  Robert  and  Hector. 

Wait,  while  I  screech !  " 

Charlotte,  eagerly  :  "  Don't,  don't,  Phoebe !     Keep  still!  " 

"Why?" 

"  Because,  we  '11  spoil  their  sport.     Besides,  I  —  I  don't  think 

it  can  be  Hector.     He  never  shoots." 

"  He  used  to,  and  I  bet  he  would  n't  object,  if  Rob  Greenwich 

should  coax  him  !     Rob  used  to  be  crazy  about  hunting,  and  the 

squirrels  are  thick  now." 

Bertha  :  "  It  will  do  no  harm  to  shout." 

"  No,  no,  Bertha !     Let  us  go  back.     The  darkness  frightens 

me."     And  Charlotte  set  out  to  fly  from  the  grove. 

Phosbe  :  "  Here  !  where  are  you  going  ?  That  an't  the  way." 
•'  Tell  me,  then.  Let  us  hasten  !  The  storm  will  be  upon  us !  " 
Mr.  Rukely  :  "  We  shall  get  wet,  most  certainly.  What  is 

that  ?     A  shantee  ?  " 

Bertha  :  "  It  is  a  shelter  for  the  men  when  they  work  in  the 

sugar-bush.     There  's  the  great  trough,  and  the  arch  for  boiling 

Shall  we  go  in  and  wait  till  the  shower  passes?  " 

The  proposition  was  favorably  received  by  all  except  Charlotte 


THE    VISIT    AND    THE    EXCURSION.  145 


She  would  have  hastened  from  the  woods.  But  already  the  big 
ruin-drops  began  to  fall,  rattling  and  hissing  among  the  leaves. 
Phoebe  ran  screaming  to  the  shantee,  swinging  her  bonnet  in  her 
hand. 

"  Come,  Charlotte,"  said  Bertha.  "  Why  are  you  afraid  ?  The 
shower  will  soon  pass ;  then  we  will  go  home  together." 

"  Well,  as  you  please." 

"I  know  now  what  trouble  yiu,  Charlotte.  It  is  what  I 
feared  for  you.  It  was  almost  inevitable.  Everybody  loves  him." 

"  What  do  you  mean  ?  " 

"  His  voice,  his  manner,  the  clear  splendor  of  his  face,"  said 
Bertha,  with  a  swelling  heart ;  "  everything  about  him  fasci- 
nates !  I  pity  you !  " 

"  I  do  not  understand  —  you  are  speaking  of  — " 

"  Hector !  " 

"  From  your  own  experience  ?  "  said  Charlotte,  with  feverish 
interest. 

"  O,  no,  —  not  much  !  I  have  known  him  all  my  life.  I  do 
not  think  he  is  a  flirt,  but  he  is  peculiar ;  he  loves  to  exert  his 
power,  and  it  is  his  way  to  say,  and  do,  and  look,  the  most  win- 
ning things,  without  really  meaning  them.  That 's  the  danger. 
Then,  he  is  so  fitful !  He.  keeps  one  always  in  suspense.  Let  me 
warn  you  in  season." 

"  There  is  no  need.  He  is  nothing  to  me,  nor  ever  can  be, 
Bertha.  But  I  thank  you  for  your  kind  advice,  the  same." 

"  There  was  another  gun,"  cried  Bertha,  "  nearer  than  before  ! 
Let  us  run.  See !  Mr.  Rukely  and  Phoebe  are  already  in  the 
cabin." 

Charlotte  glanced  wildly  in  the  direction  of  the  report.  At 
that  moment  a  sudden  lightning-flash  filled  all  the  woods  with  an 
instantaneous  fearful  glare,  and  the  bursting  thunder  followed, 
crashing  down  the  sky,  and  tumbling  from  height  to  height  along 
the  mountain  range. 
13 


XIV. 

THE     HUNTERS. 

TREMBLING  &nd  breathless,  Charlotte,  following  her  companions 
reached  the  shelter  just  as  the  descending  rain  began  to  rush  and 
rattle  among  the  trees. 

"  Stand  here,"  cried  Phoebe,  "  and  look  out  when  it  lightens  ! 
How  wild  and  dark  the  woods  are  !  I  'm  about  three  quarters 
scart ! " 

Mr.  Rukely  :  "  Here  are  plenty  of  sap-buckets  to  sit  down  upon, 
if  you  like.  Be  careful  —  the  roof  slants." 

Phoebe  :  "  I  give  my  head  an  awful  tunk,  in  there  !  Then  I 
walked  backwards  and  set  down  in  that  big  iron  kittle.  I  guess 
my  dress  will  look  pretty  !  Did  n't  you  hear  me  yell  ?  " 

Charlotte  :  "  I  'm  afraid  of  scorpions." 

Bertha  :  "  Who  ever  heard  of  such  a  thing  ?  " 

Phoebe  :  "  O-o-o  !  did  you  see  that  flash  ?  There  come  the 
hunters  !  It 's  Hector  and  Robert,  just  as  I  told  you.  They  've 
got  a  lot  of  squirrels  !  " 

"  0,  Bertha  !  "  whispered  Charlotte,  "  tell  me  what  to  do  !  I 
cannot  meet  them  !  Why  did  I  come  in  here  ?  " 

"  Shall  I  conceal  you  ?  " 

"  O,  can  you  ?  " 

"  Get  back  into  the  corner.     I  will  sit  before  you." 

"  No,  I  will  not  be  so  weak  !  It  must  come,  —  I  win  meet  it 
now  ! " 

The  shantee  was  dark  ;  and  Hector  and  Robert,  entering,  did 
not  readily  recognize  the  inmates. 

Robert,  pulling  somebody's  bonnet  from  her  face :  "  This  is 
Phoebe  Jackwood.  I  knew  your  scream  when  we  were  over 


THE     HUNTERS.  147 


the  hill.  Hello !  if  you  bite,  you  shall  have  your  teeth,  taken 
out." 

"  You  shan't  kiss  me,  Rob  Greenwich  !     If  you  do  —  " 

"  I  was  n't  going  to.  But  I  see  you  '11  be  disappointed,  now,  if 
I  don't ! " 

"Hector!  Hector!  help!" 

Hector  :  "  Fight  your  own  battles.  Who  is  here  ?  Bertha  and 
Charlotte  !  This  is  an  unlooked-for  good  fortune." 

Mr.  Rukely  :  "  You  have  met  with  eminent  success  gunning,  I 
see.  You  should  be  proud  of  those  trophies." 

Hector  threw  down  his  game.  "  0,  to  be  sure  !  How  glorious 
are  the  faculties  of  man  !  What  divine  recreations  enchant  us  ! 
Proud  ?  —  I  am  as  proud  as  poor  Tray  was,  when  whipped  for 
keeping  bad  company." 

Robert :  "  I  am  the  bad  company,  I  suppose.  I  led  poor  Tray 
into  wickedness.  But,  once  in,  he  beat  me  at  my  own  game.  He 
is  two  squirrels  my  superior  in  cruelty." 

Hector  :  "  I  did  not  think  that  I  should  ever  again  take  delight 
in  shooting  these  pretty  fan-tails.  I  had  learned  to  love  them  in 
my  rambles.  They  run  up  the  great  trunks ;  they  jump  from 
branch  to  branch  ;  they  chatter  ;  they  curve  their  fine  tails ;  they 
sit  and  nibble  nuts  on  the  high  limbs.  Is  there  nothing  to  win 
us  in  all  that  ?  Up  goes  the  deadly  gun,  and  this  wonderful  slen- 
der casket,  which  holds  the  divine  secret  of  existence,  instinct,  hap- 
piness, falls  broken  at  your  feet.  There  it  is  ;  look  at  it !  It  is 
in  form  the  same  as  ever,  but  all  the  ingenuity  of  murderous  man 
cannot  restore  the  plundered  jewel." 

Robert :  "  0,  brave  and  eloquent  harangue  !  " 

Hector  turned  over  his  game:  "Two,  four,  six,  —  I  killed 
them  alt!  It.  is  a  trifle,  perhaps;  but  such  a  trifle  teaches  me 
that  I  am  no  more  proof  against  temptation,  than  powder  is  proof 
against  fire ;  that  I  am  made  of  the  very  same  stuff  with  thieves, 
robbers,  and  all  sorts  of  ill-doers ;  and  that  only  circumstance  and 
provocation  have  been  wanting  to  develop  me  into  as  complete  a 
villain  as  the  world  knows." 

"  And  what  of  all  this  ?  " 

"  What  of  all  this  ?      Charity,  sir,  charity !     Give  me  your 


148  THE    HUNTERS. 


hand,  Robert.  I  can  grasp  it  more  heartily  than  1  \iave  been 
able  to  do  of  late.  Is  there  another  chief  of  sinners  present  ?  I 
will  embrace  him  !  " 

"  I  declare,  Hector  Dunbury  !  "  exclaimed  Phoebe,  "  one  would 
think  you  was  crazy  !  " 

"  You  may  think  so  ;  but  Bertha  does  not,  and  Charlotte  does 
not '  Excuse  me,  Robert.  I  should  have  introduced  you  to  our 
friend." 

And,  with  affected  formality,  Hector  went  through  with  the 
neglected  ceremony.  Robert  bowed  with  easy  politeness.  Pale 
and  cold,  but  outwardly  composed,  Charlotte  acknowledged  the 
salutation. 

"  This  is  a  romantic  spot  to  make  an  acquaintance,"  said  he ; 
"  but  we  might  have  met  under  stranger  circumstances ;  so  let  us 
not  stand  upon  etiquette,  but  be  friends  at  once.  Shall  I  occupy 
this  bucket  by  your  side  ?  " 

Holding  her  heart  with  all  her  might,  Charlotte  bowed  again  ; 
and  Robert  sat  down. 

"  Do  not  be  alarmed,"  said  he,  in  a  significant  tone.  "  Hector 
insinuates  that  I  am  quite  a  formidable  sinner  ;  but  we  all  know 
him." 

"  No,  you  don't !  "  cried  Hector.  "  And  you  never  will,  Robert 
Greenwich,  until  we  some  day  quarrel  royally,  and  thenceforward 
stand  to  each  other  for  precisely  what  we  are." 

"  Quarrel !  you  and  I  ?  0,  Damon  and  Pythias  !  "  said  Robert, 
"  what  do  you  mean  ?  " 

Hector  turned  to  Mr.  Rukely.  "Explain,  if  you  can,  my  rela- 
tion to  that  good-natured  Beelzebub." 

Robert,  gayly  :  "  This  is  his  peculiar  style  of  joking.  He  is 
marvellously  funny,  if  you  but  understand  him.  '  Beelzebub  '  is 
good  !  " 

"  I  have  no  sympathy  whatever  with  his  politics,  religion,  or 
morals ;  our  spirits  are  entirely  antagonistic  ;  still  he  holds  me, 
or  I  him,  by  a  power  I  cannot  comprehend." 

Robert  laughed  immoderately. 

"  The  truth  is  this  :  I  was  with  him  in  days  of  temptation  ;  I 
watched  over  him  with  a  shepherd's  care,  and  brought  him  every 


THE    HUNTERS.  -     145 


night,  like  a  tender  lamb,  into  the  fold  of  virtue.  Hence  tin 
tie  between  us." 

And  he  turned  aside  to  Charlotte. 

"  What  is  he  whispering  to  you  ?  "  demanded  Hector. 

Robert  laid  his  fingers  upon  Charlotte's  arm.  "  Keep  my  secret, 
and  I  will  keep  yours  !  " 

Charlotte,  with  an  effort :  '•'  You  see,  my  lips  are  sealed." 

Hector  regarded  her  with  a  questioning  look,  and  turned  his 
head  slowly  away. 

Robert  laughed  again.  "  That 's  another  of  his  jokes,  —  in  hia 
best  style  !  What  a  glance  that  was ;  as  much  as  to  say,  '  I  have 
warned  you  ;  look  out  for  him.'  " 

Phoebe,  impatiently  :  "  Come,  do  say  something  sensible  !  I 
am  sure  I  can't  see  any  fun  in  such  talk.  It  don't  rain  now; 
le's  go  out." 

Mr.  Rukely  :  "  The  storm  has  passed  around  to  the  north." 

Robert  smiled  significantly,  bending  slightly  towards  Charlotte. 

"  It  has  been  the  way  of  storms,  this  season,  I  am  told.  They 
have  a  northerly  tendency  ;  they  are*attracted  by  the  higher  lati- 
tudes. Don't  you  think  the  Green  Mountains  delightful,  Miss 
Woods?" 

Charlotte's  features  contracted  ;  she  bit  her  lip,  shrinking  invol- 
untarily from  her  tormentor.  His  keen  eye  watched  her  face,  while 
his  tongue  repeated  the  question. 

"  I  might  think  so,  if  it  were  not  for  the  snakes ! "  she  answered, 
in  a  low  tone. 

Robert,  with  an  unconscious  air :  "  But  our  Vermont  snakes 
ar3  quite  harmless,  if  you  treat  them  well." 

Bertha  :  "  Harmless  as  log-chains,  Phoebe  !  Come,  the  sky  is 
brightening ;  shall  we  go  ?  Hector  and  Robert  are  expected  to 
be  of  our  party,  and  take  tea  with  us." 

Hector  :  "  We  have  our  squirrels  and  guns  to  carry." 

Mr.  Rukely  :  "  You  can  send  them  home  in  Phoebe's  wagon." 

Robert :  "  That  will  be  capital  !  Shall  I  have  the  pleasure  of 
your  company,  Miss  Woods  ?  " 

Phoebe,  elated  :  "  It  all  happens  just  right !  Le'  me  carry  a 
gun !  " 


150  THE    HUNTERS. 


Hector  :  "  You  '11  be  shooting  some  one.  If  you  have  anj 
regard  for  human  life,  Robert,  keep  your  rifle  in  your  hand." 

Robert,  carelessly  :  "  I  '11  risk  her.  Here,  my  young  Amazon, 
my  aspiring  Diana  !  carry  your  weapon  thus.  Shoot  whom  you 
please,  but  do  not  point  the  muzzle  at  me.  Hector  and  Miss  Wing 
will  lead  the  way." 

Hector  consented  reluctantly,  and  went  forward  with  Bertha. 
Then  followed  Mr.  Rukely  and  Phoebe.  Robert  walked  behind, 
keeping  close  to  Charlotte's  side. 

"  How  little  did  I  expect  this  happiness !  My  life !  what  good 
fortune  has  brought  us  again  together  ?  " 

Charlotte  trembled ;  but  there  was  something  besides  fear  in 
the  restless  down-glance  of  her  eye,  and  the  quivering  curve  of 
her  lip. 

"  You  were  wrong  to  deceive  me  as  you  did,"  said  Robert.  "  It 
was  like  a  death-blow,  when  I  lost  you.  For  I  had  been  disinter- 
ested and  true ;  I  was  your  best  friend ;  I  did  not  merit  such 
ingratitude." 

Charlotte  turned  upon  her  companion  a  look  of  acutest  pain. 
She  opened  her  lips  to  speak. 

"  Not  that  I  blamed  you  ;  I  did  not,  in  the  least,"  he  hastened 
to  say.  "  You  had  learned,  by  bitter  experience,  to  distrust  all 
men.  Only  I  thought  you  should  have  known  me  bettor.  I  could 
not  give  you  up  so  ;  I  have  spent  the  summer  in  search  of  you  ; 
I  have  a  length  and  breadth  of  enduring  love,  deep  in  my  nature, 
which  nothing  can  tire  or  exhaust.  It  has  centred  in  you,  it 
holds  you,  it  will  not  let  you  go  !  " 

Hard  and  fast  breathed  Charlotte.  She  pressed  her  hand  upon 
her  heart.  At  length,  with  forced  calmness,  she  spoke. 

"  It  is  usejess  to  remind  me  that  I  am  in  your  power.  I  know 
it.  But  I  do  not  care  much  now,  —  I  am  ready  to  meet  any 
shame  or  disaster.  I  once  thought  you  noble  and  generous  —  " 

"  But  you  fled  from  me  !  " 

"  And  I  would  have  fled  again  and  again  ;  but  when  I  saw  yju 
last  night,  a  dead  despair  fell  on  me.  Something  has  held  me.  I 
seem  to  have  been  brought  here  to-day  only  to  meet  you  !  " 

"  Your  better  angel  overrules  your  will !  " 


THE    HUNTERS.  15l 


•'  Call  it  what  you  please,"  replied  Charlotte,  in  bitter  anguish. 
"  I  am  in  your  power.  I  expect  no  mercy  at  your  hands  !  " 

"  Be  calm  ;  listen  to  reason.  When  I  swore  to  be  your  friend 
and  protector,  I  took  an  oath  that  I  shall  keep.  All  I  ask  is, 
that  you  will  consent  to  see  me  again,  hear  my  explanation,  and 
try  to  know  me  better.  I  dare  not  talk  now.  Hector  is  suspi- 
cious. Promise  me  that,  and  you  are  safe." 

Charlotte  was  about  to  reply,  when  the  sharp  report  of  a  riflo 
rang  through  the  woods,  and  some  person  was  seen  to  fall  forward 
upon  the  ground. 

"  It  is  Mr.  Rukely  !  "  cried  Robert.     "  Phoebe  has  shot  him  !  " 

Phoebe  stood  petrified  with  consternation.  Bertha  screamed 
faintly,  and  ran  to  lift  her  lover  up.  Hector  and  Robert  reached 
the  spot  simultaneously.  But  Mr.  Rukely  was  too  quick  for 
them  all. 

"  That  was  -awfully  careless,  Phosbe  !  "  he  exclaimed,  looking 
very  pale  and  severe. 

"I  —  hoo  —  hoo  —  was  only  seeing  if  there  was  a  cap  on  !  " 
stammered  Phoebe. 

"  I  heard  the  lock  click,"  said  Mr.  Rukely,  "  and  looked  to  see 
what  the  child  was  doing,  when,  providentially,  I  tripped  my  foot. 
If  I  had  not  stumbled  just  as  I  did,  I  should  certainly  have  been 
shot  through  the  head.  It  was  a  wonderful  preservation." 

"  How  could  you,  Phrebe  !  "  said  Bertha. 

"  You  have  wasted  a  charge  of  powder  for  me ! "  exclaimed 
Robert. 

Mr.  Rukely,  magnanimously  :  "  I  forgive  her  !  " 

Phoebe,  weeping :  "  I  only  just  pulled  up  that  thing  a  little, 
—  I  thought  there  was  n't  any  cap  on,  —  and  my  finger  slipped 
off—" 

Mr.  Rukely  :  "  Well,  well,  there  's  no  harm  done.  Be  more 
careful  in  future." 

Hector  flung  a  sharp  reprimand  at  Robert,  for  trusting  Phoebe 
with  the  gun. 

"  Vei7  good  !  "  laughed  the  latter.  "  How  many  of  you  heard 
the  bullet  ?  " 

Bertha  had  heard  the  whistle  ;  so  had  Hector.     On  reflection 


152  THE   HUNTERS. 


everybody  hai  Heard  it  whistle  and  cut  the  leaves,  except  Mr. 
Rukely  and  Phoebe. 

"  Now,  the  joke  of  the  thing  is,"  said  Robert,  "  there  was  no 
bullet  in  the  gun  !  So  much  for  imagination !  " 

This  avowal  failed  to  give  general  satisfaction,  although  he  was 
ready  to  swear  to  it,  and  went  so  far  as  to  explain  how  it  hap- 
pened that,  on  the  coming  up  of  the  shower,  he  had  rammed  down 
a  hard  wad,  in  place  of  a  ball.  Phoebe's  conscience  was  comforted 
a  good  deal,  and  she  declared  that  she  was  sure,  if  there  had  been 
a  bullet  in  the  gun,  she  would  not  have  meddled  with  the  lock ! 

So  the  party  proceeded,  Charlotte  walking  the  remainder  of  the 
way  with  Mr.  Rukely,  while  Robert  chatted  with  Phoebe. 

Arrived  at  the  house,  a  lively  excitement  prevailed,  and  there 
arose  a  clamor  of  indignation  against  Robert,  on  the  discovery 
that  Mr.  Rukely 's  hat  had  two  holes  in  it :  one  where  a  bullet 
had  gone  in,  and  another  where  it  had  gone  out.  - 

"  I  told  you  so  !  "  cried  Bertha. 

Mr.  Rukely,  with  a  grim  smile :  "  I  though  there  was  no  bii..  ;t 
in  the  gun,  Mr.  Greenwich  !  " 

Phoebe  looked  blank.  But  Robert  threw  himself  upon  a  chaL, 
and  laughed  with  open  throat,  declaring  that  this  last  was  the 
best  joke  of  all. 

"  He  has  no  more  heart  or  conscience  than  a  stone,"  said  Hec- 
tor. "How  were  you  pleased  with  his  conversation,"  —  to  Char- 
lotte, aside,  —  "as  you  came  through  the  woods  together?" 

Charlotte  changed  color :  "  Why  do  you  ask  ?  " 

Hector,  regarding  her  darkly:  "Man  is  a  deceiver;  woman's 
heart  is  soft;  and  flattery  is  the  snare  of  souls.  Trust  not  one 
of  us '  " 


XV. 

THE   LIFTING    OF  THE   VEIL. 

THENCEFORWARD  Robert  Greenwich  frequented  Mrs.  Dunbury's 
house  with  untiring  zeal.  Hunting,  fishing,  or  riding,  he  was 
never  without  some  pleasant  excuse  for  resorting  that  way.  He 
always  inquired  for  Hector,  and  feigned  disappointment  if  he  did 
not  find  him ;  but  it  was  only  when  Charlotte  was  absent  that 
he  was  ever  once  known  to  be  in  a  hurry. 

One  day,  calling  as  usual,  he  found  Charlotte  and  Hector  sit- 
ting together ;  both  silent ;  the  former  busy  with  her  needle,  the 
latter  engaged  in  reading  random  passages  in  a  volume  of  Shak- 
speare. 

""Under  the  circumstances,"  said  the  visitor,  smiling,  "  I  pre- 
sume you  are  not  very  glad  to  see  me." 

"  If  you  refer  to  me,"  replied  Hector,  "  I  am  not.  I  never 
am.  But  I  suppose  that  makes  no  difference.  Sit  down." 

"  Thank  you  for  your  frankness.  I  find  it  quite  refreshing. 
Don't  let  me  interrupt  anything,  I  pray." 

"  You  certainly  shall  not,"  —  and  Hector  went  on  with  hia 
reading. 

Robert  smiled  as  he  placed  his  hat  on  the  table,  and  drew  his 
chair  to  Charlotte's  side.  For  half  an  hour  they  conversed  in 
whispers,  with  long  intervals  of  silence ;  and  at  his  departure,  she 
accompanied  him  to  the  porch,  and  talked  some  minutes  with  him 
there. 

Returning  thon  to  the  sitting-room,  and  finding  Hector's  book 
on  the  floor,  she  stooped  to  take  it  up.  He  caught  her  wrist,  and 
held  her  back.  She  looked  up.  The  suppressed  passion  in  his 
face  frightened  her.  v 


154  THE    LIFTING    OF    TIIE    VEIL. 


"  I  thought  you  had  dropped  it  by  accident,"  she  faltered 

"  I  flung  it  4here  in  a  rage  !  Therefore  leave  it  for  my  shame 
and  contrition  to  take  it  up  again."  —  He  pushed  it  under  the 
table  with  his  foot.  —  "  Lie  there,"  said  he,  "  until  I  am  once 
more  a  man  !  " 

All  this  time  he  held  Charlotte's  wrist.  Rigid  and  pale  with 
suffering,  she  made  but  a  feeble  pfort  to  escape. 

''  Are  you  an  angel  or  a  fiend  ?  "  he  demanded,  searching  her 
face  with  his  determined  eye. 

"Neither,"  said  she,  with  tearful  pathos;  "  I  am  a  woman." 

"True;  I  had  forgotten,"  replied  Hector.  "That  name  ac- 
counts for  every  inconsistency  that  entangles  our  poor  human 
nature  !  A  woman  !  —  Go  !  " 

He  dropped  her  hand.  The  look  he  gave  her  carried  a  more 
terrible  meaning  than  his  words.  He  took  a  number  of  quick 
strides  across  the  room ;  then  came  and  looked  upon  her.  She 
had  not  yet  spoken ;  she  had  sunk  down  by  a  chair ;  her  silence 
and  meekness  under  the  blow  he  had  struck  burned  into  his  soul 
like  fire. 

"  Charlotte,"  said  he,  after  a  long  pause.  He  spoke  more  ten- 
derly, and  she  began  to  weep.  "  Charlotte  —  "  and  he  stooped 
to  raise  her  up. 

She  only  bowed  more  humbly  still,  until  at  last  her  forehead 
touched  his  foot. 

"  Well,  if  that  is  your  place,  this  is  mine"!  " 

And  he  threw  himself  prone  upon  his  face  at  her  side. 

"  No,  no  !  not  there  !  "  she  cried,  starting  quickly  up. 

He  caught  the  hem  of  her  dress  to  his  lips,  and  kissed  it ;  but 
she  snatched  it  from  him. 

"  What  are  you  ?  "  she  cried  out. 

"  0  God !  what  am  I  ?  "  he  groaned,  burying  his  face  iu  hig 
hands. 

"  How  have  I  offended  you?  " 

"You  have  not  offended  me.  I  have  offended  myself!  0 
what  a  fine  blusterer  am  I !  " 

"  But  I  have  given  you  some  cause  —  I  know  I  have ! " 


THE    LIFTING    OF    THE    VEIL.  155 


"Have  you?  I  gather  hope  from  that!  Tell  me  what — • 
afford  me  an  excuse  for  my  rage  —  and  unhorse  this  imp  of  con 
science  that  rides  me  !  Come,  sit  here  upon  this  chair,  and  we 
will  talk." 

"  I  hav<>  not  been  open  and  free  with  you,''  Charlotte  con- 
fessed. 

"  True ;  but  what  of  that  ?  I  have  had  no  claim  upon  your 
confidence  whatever ! " 

"  Indeed,  indeed,  ypu  have,  sir  !     No  outward  claim,  perhaps, 

—  and  yet  a  claim  —  I  have  felt  it,  and  you  have  felt  it !  " 

"  And  so  I  have  !  -But  I  thought  that  was  all  my  egotism  ! 
You  recognize  it?  O,  Charlotte  !  if  a  desperate  and  all-controll- 
ing love  can  merit  anything,  I  have  a  claim  !  Sit  still  —  for 
now  my  tongue  is  loosed,  and  you  must  hear  me!  In  spite  of 
myself,  in  spite  of  reason  and  will,  I  am  drawn  irrevocably  to 
you.  As  you  are  to  me,  so  is  all  the  world.  To  doubt  you  is  to 
doubt  humanity.  The  light  of  the  universe  shines  upon  me 
through  your  eyes ;  and  if  they  are  turned  from  me,  my  soul  is 
dark.  Are  you  frightened,  or  are  you  glad,  that  you  tremble  so, 
and  hide  your  face  ?  " 

No  reply.     Hector  went  on. 

"I  thought  —  I  believed  —  I  knew  —  that  I  was  to  you  all 
that  you  were  to  me.  So,  I  had  a  claim.  And  after  a  long  strug- 
gle within  myself,  there  came  a  period  of  calm  and  peace.  My 
soul  opened  its  doors  to  you.  But,  just  then,  Robert  Green- 
wich appeared.  He  cast  his  shadow  between  us;  and  the  doors 
were  clashed  together  as  by  a  whirlwind.  Had  he  been  worthy, 
could  I  have  seen  that  you  belonged  to  him  by  the  Divine  law, 

—  but  you  know  my  feeling  of  that  man  !     Imagine,  then,  what  a 
burning  was  lighted  within  me,  when  I  saw  him,  with  a  cool,  auda- 
cious smilo,  step  in,  and  gain  from  you  in  au  hour  what  is  with- 
held from  me  to  this  day  !  " 

"Gain  from  me  —  what  ?  '' 

"That  you  know,  better  than  I!  But  I  am  not  blind  ;  I  am 
not  deaf.  Would  that  I  were !  Not  once  has  that  fine  hypocrite 
gone  out  of  his  selfish  track  for  me.  All  his  visits  to  this  house 
are  visits  to  you.  That  first  day  of  your  meeting  in  the  woods, 


156  THE    LIFTING    OF    THE    VEIL. 


he  insinuated  himself  into  your  confidence ;  I  saw  it  at  the  time , 
since  then  there  have  been  manifold  secrets  between  you.  I  have 
m'arked  his  assumption,  which  you  have  endured,  if  not  encour- 
aged. I  have  marked  your  blushes,  your  pallor,  your  faltering 
speech,  when  he  has  come  suddenly  upon  you,  or  giveiryou  mean- 
ing looks,  or  whispered  in  your  ear.  With  the  interest  I  feel  in 
you,  and  the  scorn  I  have  for  him,  can  you  wonder  at  the  fury 
stirred  in  my  blood?  To-day,  the  tiger  was  roused,  and  would 
have  sprung  at  his  throat."  • 

"  I  do  not  wonder ;  I  am  to  blame !  "  uttered  Charlotte. 

"  0,  woman  !  woman  !  I  loved  you,  and  tried  to  hate  you.  I 
believed  you  worthy,  and  believed  you  not  worthy.  To  my  un- 
derstanding you  appeared  false  and  erring;  but  ever  in  my  heart 
you  were  fair,  white-robed,  pure,  angelic !  0,  how  I  loved  you, 
when  I  was  most  unkind  !  Charlotte,  did  I  deserve  your  trust  ?  " 

"  You  did  —  you  did  !  But  your  friendship  was  too  precious 
to  me ;  I  could  not  bear  to  lose  it :  my  fear  kept  me  dumb  :  so,  I 
left  you  to  misjudge  me." 

"  Show  me  how  I  misjudged  you." 

"  Let  me  sit  by  the  window ;  I  cannot  breathe  here,"  said 
Charlotte.  "  I  will  tell  you  everything  to-day.  This  agony 
must  have  an  end.  I  know  you  will  cast  me  from  you  —  but  it 
will  be  better  so.  Be  patient;  I  must  collect  my  thoughts  a 
little." 

Hector  trembled  with  suspense.  He  led  her  to  a  seat  by  the 
window,  and,  placing  himself  beside  her,  took  her  cold  hands  in 
his. 

"  Speak  boldly  !  "  said  he,  in  quivering  tones.  "  If  I  am  true, 
no  misfortune,  no  fault,  no  dark  spot  in  the  past,  can  stain  you  in 
my  sight.  Your  soul  is  what  I  love.  It  matters  little  what  gar- 
ments it  has  worn,  if  it  be  clothed  in  white  to-day.  The  true 
man  looks  through  every  external  circumstance,  to  the  spiritual 
substance  under  all.  Only  the  weak  and  ignorant  regard  birth, 
fortune,  family,  reputation  —  " 

At  that  moment,  the  door  opened.  Mrs.  Dunbury  entered, 
smiling  benignly. 

"  Do  I  intrude  ?  "  she  asked,  hesitating. 


TIIE   LIFTING    OF  TIJE   VEIL.  157 


"  You  do,"  said  Hector,  gently,  but  with  something  like  a 
frown.  "  Leave  us  alone  a  few  minutes  —  if  you  please." 

"  Certainly,"  replied  Mrs.  Dunbury.  "  I  am  afraid  you  will 
take  cold  by  that  window,  Charlotte.  There  is  quite  a  chill  au- 
to-day." 

She  stooped  to  take  up  Hector's  book ;  he  followed  her  with 
an  impatient  eye;  when,  having  turned  again,  to  smile  her  satis- 
faction at  the  aspect  of  affairs,  sl.e  aeliberately  withdrew. 

Then  Hector  moved  impulsively  to  tho  ioor,  and  turned  the  key 
in  the  lock. 

14 


\V1 

FIGHTING  FIRE. 

IT  was  a  new  thing  for  Hector  to  be  closeted  with  Charlotte. 
His  mother  augured  favorably  from  the  circumstance,  and  waited 
with  hopeful  interest  for  the  termination  of  the  interview. 

The  hour  seemed  long :  but  at  length,  with  a  thrill  of  motherly 
solicitude,  she  heard  the  sitting-room  door  open,  and  Hector  come 
forth.  He  was  passing  through  the  hall,  when  she  hastened  to 
intercept  him. 

"  Hector !  "  —  she  started  with  alarm  —  "  are  you  ill  ?  " 

There  was  a  desperate  trouble  in  his  pale  face ;  he  did  not 
•glance  aside,  or  turn  his  head,  but,  putting  her  off  with  a  feeble 
gesture,  as  she  followed  him,  hurried  from  the  house.  Excited 
with  fresh  fears,  Mrs.  Dunbury  made  haste  to  find  Charlotte. 
She  entered  the  sitting-room.  All  was  still ;  she  saw  no  one  ;  but 
presently  a  low  moan  directed  her  attention  to  a  large  arm-chair, 
before  which  lay  Charlotte  like  one  dead,  with  her  face  upon  the 
floor,  hidden  in  the  scattered  masses  of  her  hair. 

"  My  child!  .what  is  this?  "  She  lifted  her  up  ;  she  put  back 
the  curls  from  her  temples ;  she  kissed  her,  and  called  her  endear- 
ing names.  But  the  poor  girl  only  moaned,  and  strove  to  prostrate 
herself  again  upon  the  floor.  Then,  more  than  ever  alarmed,  but 
fearing  more  for  Hector  than  for  her,  Mrs.  Dunbury  threw  on 
hastily  her  bonnet  and  shawl,  and  walked  out  in  the  direction  he 
had  been  observed  to  take. 

It  was  another  smoky  day.  The  drouth  had  continued ;  Au- 
tumn had  crept  unawares  in  the  dry  path  of  Summer;  the  hills 
were  prematurely  brown,  the  forests  sere  and  dead,  and  the  sun 
looked  like  blood  in  the  ^k. 


FIGHTING   FIRE.  15'J 


A  few  days  before,  in  the  anticipation  of  rain,  Mr.  Dunbary 
had  ventured  to  set  fire  to  some  obstinate  stumps  on  the  borders 
of  a  swamp,  west  of  the  creek.  Again,  as  usual  that  summer,  all 
signs  had  failed ;  the  rain  came  not ;  the  earth  was  dried  to  tin- 
der ;  and  the  fire  spread  in  every  direction.  The  men  fought 
against  its  inroads,  with  water  and  spades ;  drenched  it,  quenched 
it,  smothered  it  in  dirt;  killed  it,  cried  victory,  and  left  it  for 
dead  a  dozen  times.  But  it  had  the  blind  mole's  instinct  fur  dig- 
ging in  the  earth.  It  ate  off  the  roots  of  trees,  and  brought  them 
down  crashing  in  the  dry  swamp.  It  devoured  the  soil  itself;  it 
ran  in  the  grass  like  snakes ;  and  was  continually  watching  its 
opportunity  to  dodge  into  the  fences,  or  to  insinuate  itself  into  the 
balsam  pump-logs,  piled  up  on  the  edge  of  the  swamp. 

It  had  shown  itself  again  that  afternoon,  leaping  up,  flushed 
and  exultant,  in  a  spot  where  least  expected.  Its  fantastic  danc- 
ing and  clapping  of  hands  had  of  course  been  speedily  checked, 
and  it  now  lay  humbled  in  dust  and  ashes ;  but  columns  of  smoke, 
arising  from  the  burnt  ground,  marked  the  scene  of  the  conflict. 

Mrs.  Dunbury  thought  she  discerned  Hector  working  with  his 
father,  in  the  midst  of  the  smoke.  In  her  uncertainty,  she  spoke 
to  Corny,  who  was  filling  barrels  with  water,  at  the  creek. 

"  Yis,  that 's  him,"  drawled  Corny.  "  I  d'n'  know  what  we 
should  done  without  him  ;  for  he  beats  all  creation  to  work,  when 
he  gits  a  little  grain  riled." 

"  What  do  you  mean  by  riled  ?  " 

"  Wai,  he  was  goin'  by,  when  me  an'  Mist'  Dunbury  was  run- 
nin'  to  put  out  the  fire ;  and  Mist'  Dunbury  told  him  to  go  an' 
help,  —  kinder  cross,  I  thought,  an'  I  guess  he  thought  so  too,  for 
he  did  n't  say  nothin' ;  but  the  way  he  put  in  when  he  got  to  the 
fire  was  a  caution,  you  may  as  well  believe !  Darned  if  1  could 
do  anything  but  stau'  an'  look  on !  " 

"  Well,  fill  the  barrels ;  they  will  want  the  water." 

"  I  am  filliu'  'em.  —  There !  what  ia  thunder  was  I  thinkin' 
on?  They  tumbled  off  'm  the  sled,  when  I  turned  the  boss 
'round,  and  I  've  been  V  filled  one  'ithout  puttin'  it  on  agin  !  " 

"  Place  the  other  on  the  sled,  and  dip  the  water  from  this  one 
hit  3  it,"  said  Mrs.  Dunbury. 


1GO  FIGHTING    FIRE. 


"  Wai,  I  did  n't  think  o'  that.  It  '11  take  a  good  while,  I  'sides 
If  Bridget  'u'd  come  and  help,  we  could  lift  it  on." 

At  this  moment  Mr.  Dunbury  shouted,  "  Make  haste  !  " 

"  An't  I  makin'  haste  all  I  kin  !  "  muttered  Corny.  —  "  He  '11 
be  mad  as  thunder,  now,  if  he  sees  me  pourin'  water  from  one 
barrel  into  t'  other." 

He  accordingly  exercised  his  ingenuity  in  the  matter,  and 
turned  the  horse  partly  around,  to  place  him  as  a  screen  between 
him  and  his  two  barrels  and  Mr.  Dunbury  and  his  two  eyes. 
After  that  he  emptied  barrel  number  one  into  barrel  number  two  ; 
and,  discovering  that  the  contents  of  barrel  number  one  did 
not  much  more  than  half  fill  barrel  number  two,  paused  to  phi- 
losophize on  the  subject;  when  Mrs.  Dunbury  advanced  the 
hypothesis  that  there  was  an  outlet  somewhere.  In  fact,  barrel 
number  two  leaked  like  a  sieve.  By  this  time  Mr.  Dunbury  waa 
shouting  again.  "  Hurry  with  what  you  've  got !  " 

"  Wa-a-al !  I  won't  fuss  no  longer,"  said  Corny,  taking  tho 
reins.  "  There  an't  much  of  it,  so  I  can  ride." 

He  jumped  upon  the  sled,  and,  to  save  the  wasting  contents  of 
the  barrel,  struck  the  horse  with  the  reins.  The  animal  failed, 
however,  to  keep  pace  with  the  leak :  while  he  only  walked,  the 
water  was  running  :  and  by  the  time  the  scene  of  excitement  was 
reached,  barrel  number  two  was  empty. 

"  I  done  jest  as  ye  told  me  to  !  "  screamed  Corny. 

Out  of  respect  for  Mr.  Dunbury's  length  of  arm,  he  dodged 
behind  the  barrel,  which  was  overturned  between  them,  anu 
stepped  back  into  a  bed  of  hot  ashes,  up  to  his  knees. 

Made  aware  of  her  husband's  excitement  by  the  united  witness 
of  her  eyes  and  ears,  but  feeling  it  still  more  in  her  wounded 
spirit,  Mrs.  Dunbury's  heart  failed  her,  and,  giving  a  last  anxious 
look  at  Hector,  as  he  disappeared  in  the  smoke,  she  returned 
slowly  to  the  house. 

An  hour  later,  Bridget  blew  the  horn,  and  Mr.  Dunbury  and 
Corny  came  up  to  supper.  They  were  covered  with  sweat  and 
Boot ;  and  the  brow  of  the  farmer  was  dark  and  angry. 

"  Where  is  Hector  ?  "  asked  the  invalid,  anxiously. 

"  He  is  in  the  swamp." 


FIGHTING   FIRE.  161 


"  Is  n't  he  coming  to  supper  ?  " 

"  It  was  necessary  for  some  one  to  watch  the  fire." 

"  I  offered  to,"  said  Corny,  blacking  a  towel  with  nis  half 
washed  face,  "  but  he  said  he  'd  stay ;  so  I  tho't  I  'd  let  him,  if  he 
could  see  any  fun  in  't." 

After  supper,  Corny  was  sent  to  take  Hector's  place ;  but  he 
returned,  not  long  after,  and  made  his  appearance,  whittling. 

"  Where  is  Hector  ?  "  asked  Mrs.  Dunbury  again. 

"  He 's  out  there." 

"  But  you  were  told  to  watch  the  fire  !  " 

"  Wai,  he  said  he  'd  watch  it.  B'sides,  the  fire  's  all  under  now, 
and  he  could  leave  it 's  well  as  not,  if  he  was  a  mind  to." 

Mrs.  Dunbury  then  went  to  the 'garden  where  her  husband 
was  at  work,  and  expressed  to  him  something  of  her  fears  for 
Hector.  "  Would  it  not  be  well  to  speak  to  him  yourself?  "  she 
ventured  to  say. 

"  And  go  down  on  my  knees  to  him  ? "  added  her  husband, 
with  a  lurid  look. 

"  0,  no,  not  that,  but  you  know  his  spirit;  he  cannot  forget  a 
wrong ;  an  unjust  or  unworthy  word  corrodes  his  very  heart." 

Mr.  Dunbury  made  no  reply,  but  kept  on  husking  the  garden 
corn,  and  throwing  the  ears  into  the  basket.  His  face  was  red  and 
angry ;  and,  with  her  knowledge  of  his  moods,  she  judged  it  wise 
to.  leave  him.  It  was  now  fast  growing  dark,  and  as  a  last  resort 
she  sent  Bridget  with  a  message  to  her  son. 

But  the  evening  dragged  on,  and  still  Hector  did  not  appear. 
Under  the  wide  canopy  of  smoke  that  burdened  the  night  air  and 
hid  the  stars,  he  sat  upon  a  fallen  trunk,  in  the  midst  of  the  black 
field.  The  subtle  element  was  "  under,"  as  Corny  had  declared  ; 
but,  though  crushed,  it  was  not  killed  :  angry  eyes  starting  out  now 
and  then,  and  winking  redly  in  the  dark,  betrayed  its  lurking 
life.  No  other  object  was  visible  on  any  side,  far  or  near,  save 
the  darker  shadows  of  the  swamp,  contrasting  dimly  with  the 
misty  gloom  of  the  fields. 

There  was  something  deeply  solemn  in  the  scene.  To  Hector, 
it  seemed  typical  of  his  own  soul. 

In  the  night  of  despair  by  which  he  was  encompassed,  he 
14* 


162  FIGHTING    FIRE. 


saw  no  light,  no  glimmer  anywhere,  save  in  the  quivering  embeis 
of  a  deep-burning  passion,  which  he  had  trampled  beneath  his 
feet.  Nor  was  the  correspondence  destroyed,  when,  looking  to  the 
eastward,  he  beheld  a  startling  apparition  in  the  sky.  It  was  of 
two  blood-red  spectres,  flickering  and  glowing  like  fragments  of 
the  moon  in  flames.  He  knew  that  the  phenomenon  was  caused 
by  fires'  on  the  high  mountain-top ;  but  his  distempered  fancy 
could  see  only  two  grotesque  and  awful  eyes  gazing  upon  him  out 
of  heaven,  and  symbolizing  the  still  more  awful  eyes  of  conscience 
in  his  soul. 

The  night  wore  on.  The  giant  eyes  blinked  sleepily.  The 
embers  in  the  ground  twinkled,  and  shifted  from  place  to  place, 
like  electric  sparks.  The  le'aves  rustled  in  the  swamp,  the  night- 
wind  moaned  in  the  trees.  Then  came  a  snapping  and  crackling 
of  roots,  a  stir  in  the  air,  a  murmur  and  a  whisper  overhead,  fol- 
lowed by  a  deep,  hoarse  whistle,  swelling  to  a  roar,  and  a  resound- 
ing crash  in  the  blind  woods.  The  earth  shuddered,  and  dull 
echoes  smote  the  hills.  A  tree  had  fallen.  Still  Hector  sat  and 
watched  ;  and  now,  while  his  limbs  became  chilled  with  the  cold, 
his  thoughts  grew  wild  and  hideous.  He  imagined  himself  sur- 
rounded by  vast  pits  of  smouldering  fire.  Then  it  seemed  that 
the  world  had  been  destroyed,  and  that  he  was  the  sole  survivor 
of  his  race,  brooding  upon  the  ruins.  All  the  people  he  had  ever 
known  moved  past  him  in  grimacing  and  solemn  procession. 
They  were  but  as  phantoms,  that  had  never  had  a  real  existence. 
The  life  he  had  lately  lived  was  something  vague  and  visionary, 
and  far-off  in  the  past ;  his  own  bodily  form  seemed  strange  to 
him ;  and  he  wondered  at  the  gigantic  proportions  of  the  being 
that  seemed  himself.  Suddenly,  all  this  passed,  and  he  saw  one 
solf,  clear  image,  as  of  purest  amber,  exquisitely  soft  and  glo- 
rious, falling,  falling  forever,  in  a  chaotic  sky.  It  was  the  image 
of  Charlotte. 

He  knew  not  whether  these  fancies  ended  in  sleep  ;  but  when 
his  mind  aroused  to  consciousness  again,  the  mountain  fires  had 
fad*)d,  and  the  dawn  was  faintly  struggling  through  the  dim  smoka 
trr-;  shrouded  the  world. 


XVII. 

THE   MORNING   AFTER. 

ALL  night  long  Mrs.  D  anbury  listened  for  Hector's  footsteps 
in  the  hall ;  and  it  was  not  until  after  she  had  heard  him  enter  at 
day-break,  and  go  up  to  his  chamber,  that  slumber  overtook  the 
thronging  troubles  of  her  brain. 

She  was  awakened  by  a  knock  at  her  door. 

"  Who  is  there  ?  " 

Hector  entered.     He  was  pale  and  haggard. 

"  0,  my  son  ! "  said  she,  reaching  out  her  hands  from  her  pil- 
low, "  come  here  !  What  a  night  I  have  passed  !  " 

"  What  a  night  I  have  passed,  mother  !  " 

"  What  have  you  been  doing  ?  " 

"  Fighting  fire." 

"  But  they  told  me  there  was  no  fire  to  fight." 

"Ah,  but  there  was  fire  to  fight !  "  —  and  Hector  laid  his  hand 
upon  his  breast.  "  Where  is  father  ?  " 

"  I  think  he  has  gone  in  search  of  you.  He  was  awake  all 
night ;  and  as  soon  as  it  was  beginning  to  grow  light,  he  arose 
and  went  out." 

"  That  is  well.  When  he  returns,  please  inform  him  thai  I 
leave  town  to-day." 

"  Leave  town  !  " 

"  Temper  your  surprise,  mother,  and  listen  to  me  a  moment." 

"  But  you  must  not  think  of  it !  "  and  Mrs.  Dunbury  held 
her  son's  hand  with  spasmodic  energy.  "  It  will  kill  me  to  have 
you  go  ! " 

"  It  will  kill  me  to  stay,  mother  !  " 

"  But  reflect —  " 


164  THE    MORNING    AFTER. 


"I  have  had  all  night  to  reflect ;  and  I  must  go.  Life  here  can 
be  but  one  prolonged  distress.  0,  mother,  what  stuff  mortality 
is  made  of!  But  a  little  time  ago,  the  golden  summer  was  all 
before  me ;  now  it  is  all  behind  me.  What  was  happiness  is 
dust ;  what  was  hope  is  ashes !  My  brain  is  unsettled,  and  I 
need  solitude." 

"  I  pity  you,  my  son  !  " 

"  None  of  your  pity  !  Rise  up  rather,  like  a  Spartan  mother 
and  charge  me  to  be  a  man !  My  destiny  is  not  yet  fulfilled. 
Have  no  fears  for  my  welfare.  There  is  no  danger  for  me,  except 
in  resting  here,  to  shrivel  and  wither  up  before  my  time." 

"But  Charlotte  —  " 

Hector  pressed  his  forehead  in  his  hand,  as  if  to  hold  it  from 
bursting.- 

"  Think  of  her  !  " 

"  0,  God  !  were  it  possible  not  to  think  of  her  ! "  A  sigh 
shook  his  whole  frame,  and  his  voice  was  torn  with  anguish,  like 
his  heart.  "  But  I  will  not  be  weak.  Let  me  make  one  last 
request,  mother.  Do  you  know  her  whom  we  call  Charlotte  ?  " 

"  I  think  I  do  ;  I  think  she  is  a  pure  and  good  girl  —  " 

'•  Think  ?  0,  mother  !  "  —  and  there  was  a  bright  earnestness 
in  Hector's  eyes,  —  "I  could  tell  you  a  story !  —  To  pass  through 
what  she  has  passed  through  !  —  0,  we  have  never  known  her  !  " 

'•  I  felt  that,  —  I  felt  it  all !  " 

"  Then  you  should  be  ashamed  to  have  said  '  I  think.'  For 
my  sake,  cherish  her  with  the  tenderest  care  ;  comfort  her  in  suf- 
fering, be  her  friend  at  all  times,  and,  happen  what  will,  never 
forsake  her ! " 

"  But  you  —  why  do  you  desert  her  ?  why  leave  her  at  all  ?  " 

"  Let  that  rest  where  it  does  —  between  her  and  me  alone. 
If  you  knew  all,  then  you  would  understand ;  then  you  would 
say,- '  You  do  well  to  go.'  —  Destiny  is  strange  —  strange  !  " 

The  entrance  of  Mr.  Dunbury  interrupted  the  conference. 

"  It  is  a  surprise  to  see  you,  sir,"  he  said,  with  a  somewhat 
surly  look  at  Hector. 

"  If  that  surprise  could  have  been  postponed  some  minutes 
longer,  I  should  not  be  sorry.  But,  since  you  are  here,  I  may  us 


THE    MORNING    AFTER.  165 


well  deliver  the  message  I  was  about  to  leave  for  you.  And 
Hector  named  his  proposed  journey. 

"  Very  well,"  said  Mr.  Dunbury,  doggedly.  "  I  suppose  that 
what  I  said  yesterday  has  decided  you." 

"  What  you  said  nettled  me ;  for  I  was  sore  from  head  to  heel, 
when  you  hit  me  so  rudely  with  your  speech.  But  that  is  passed 
with  me,  —  I  hope  it  is"  passed  with  you.  I  am  grieved,  not  that 
you  addressed  me  as  you  did,  but  that  you,  my  father,  could  find 
it  in  your  heart  to  address  any  one  in  such  terms.  I  say  this  in 
all  kindness,  and  with  due  respect ;  but  I  have  of  late  fallen  into 
the  habit  of  plain  speaking." 

Mr.  Dunbury  looked  fiery ;  but  whether  from  self-conviction  or 
resentment,  Hector  did  not  know. 

"  I  leave  to-day  ;  and  only  Heaven  knows  when  I  shall  return, 
—  if  ever  !  I  have  spent  a  happy  summer  with  you  here.  You 
have  been  at  most  times  a  father  to  me ;  you,  mother,  have 
been  always  more  than  a  mother.  I  thank  you  both  !  That  I 
have  not  been  worthy,  I  know  too  well,  —  too  well !  I  am  by 
nature  imperious  and  self-willed,  fitful  and  rash,  and  I  have  too 
often  given  rein  to  this  wild  horse  of  temper.  You,  dear  mother, 
can  forgive  all  that,  and  a  thousand  times  more !  I  hope  you, 
my  father,  will  forgive  so  much.  Let  me  kneel  here  until  I  hear 
you  say  so." 

Hector  got  down  by  the  bed,  and  hid  his  face.  The  invalid 
pressed  his  noble  head,  and  kissed  his  fair,  flowing  locks,  sobbing 
audibly.  For  more  than  a  minute,  Mr.  Dunbury  looked  on  in 
rigid  silence.  Then  his  chest  began  to  heave,  and  his  lips  to 
quiver,  and  a  glistening  moisture  quenched  the  flame  of  his  eyes. 
After  two  or  three  attempts,  which  pride  appeared  to  foil,  he 
stooped  and  took  Hector  by  the  arm. 

"Arise  up  now,"  —  his  voice  and  manner  betrayed  emotion 
struggling  still  with  pride.  "I  —  I  do  not  like  to  see  you  so. 
You  know  I  forgive  you.  Then  let  us  be  men,  and  talk  and  act 
like  men." 

"  Except  we  be  first  as  little  children,  we  can  never  be  true 
men,"  said  Hector,  kneeling  still. 

There  was  love,  and  suffering,  and  an  indescribable  softness  :r 


1G6  THE    MORNING    AFTER. 


his  tones,  which  troubled  the  parent's  rugged  spirit  more  and 
more.  Mrs.  Dunbury  wept  aloud.  Then  Hector  reached  forth 
instinctively,  and  took  his  father's  hand.  For  a  moment,  there 
was  a  terrible  boiling  and  swelling  of  the  restrained  waters;  then 
the  ice  gave  away,  and  they  gushed  forth.  The  strong  man  was 
broken  ;  he  sank  down  by  the  bed  ;  he  threw  himself  on  Hector's 
neck  ;  he  cried  out,  in  agony, 

"  I  am  the  only  offender  ;  I  am  not  fit  to  live  !  " 

"  0,  my  father !  "  said  Hector,  "  my  father !  my  father  !  " 

The  invalid  wept  still ;  but  a  deep  happiness  stirred  under  all 
her  grief,  and  sweetened  her  bitterest  tears. 

On  leaving  his  mother's  room,  Hector  passed  an  hour  in  his 
own  chamber,  making  preparations  for  his  journey.  Then  return- 
ing and  finding  her  alone,  and  busily  engaged  in  preparing  some 
little  comforts  to  remind  him  of  her  in  his  absence,  he  bent  over 
her  tenderly,  and  took  her  hand. 

"  Put  away  those  trifles,"  said  he,  with  a  sad  smile.  "  It 
pains  me  to  see  you  strain  your  eyes,  working  for  an  ungrateful 
son  ! " 

"  Anything  I  can  do  for  you  is  a  solace  to  my  pain,''  replied  his 
mother,  blinded  once  more  by  her  tears. 

"  But  there  is  something  of  deeper  importance,  and  of  dearer 
interest,  that  you  can  do  for  me  now.  I  find  I  cannot  go  without 
saying  one  last  word  to  Charlotte.  I  wish  to  feel  that  she  under- 
stands me,  and  forgives  me." 

"0,  why  did  you  not  tell  me  this  before  ?  " 

"  Why  before,  and  why  not  now  ?  " 

"  Charlotte  !  Charlotte  '  "—  a  fresh  distress  choked  the  invalid's 
voice,  —  "  she  is  gone  !  " 

Blank  disappointment  sent  the  color  from  Hector's  face  Ho 
repeated  —  "  Gone  !  " 

'  Half  an  hour  since.  I  could  not  detain  her  longer.  O, 
how  she  loves  you !  how  she  suffers,  Hector !  She  would  have 
gone  out  wildly  into  the  world  last  night,  —  anywhere,  to 
meet  any  fate,  to  die ;  but  my  entreaties  prevailed,  and  she 
remained.  But  this  morning  I  could  not  move  her.  She 


THE    MORNING    AFTER.      "  lt)7 


believed  that  it  was  her  presence  here  that  drove  you  from 
your  home  —  " 

"  Which  way  did  she  go  ?  " 

"  To  Mr.  Jackwood's ;  it  was  by  my  advice  ;  I  sent  Cornelius 
with  her." 

"  It  is  well !  "  said  Hector.  "  After  I  am  gone,  send  for  her, 
—  she  cannot  but  come  back  to  ycu.  Perhaps  it  is  better  that  I 
should  not  see  her  again.  Toll  her  —  tell  her  —  to  think  kindly 
of  me  ;  and  —  that 's  all." 

His  mother  sobbed.  He  stooped  and  kissed  her.  "  Bless  you; 
bless  you,  mother  !  "  Then,  returning  to  his  chamber,  he  hastened 
to  make  final  preparations  for  his  journey. 


XVIIT. 

PARTINGS. 

STRANGE  sensations  crowded  Charlotte's  heart,  as  Corny  set  her 
down  at  Mr.  Jackwood's  gate.  The  hens  cackled  as  of  old ; 
Rover  ran  out,  barking,  and  leaped  upon  her  dress  ;  and  the  ris- 
ing generation  of  turkeys  saluted  her  with  a  clamor  of  comically 
juvenile  voices.  Then  Bim  cried  hello,  with  a  good-natured  grin  ; 
and  Phoebe  appeared,  clapping  her  hands  delightedly. 

"  You  've  come  to  stop  a  week,  I  know,  have  n't  you  ?  "  cried 
the  young  girl.  "  And,  only  think,  gran'ma  is  going  back  to 
Sawney  Hook,  to-day,  and  we  are  all  tickled  to  death  !  But 
don't  you  tell  her  you  're  going  to  stay ;  for  it  '11  make  her  so 
mad,  I  don't  know  but  she  'd  give  up  going,  just  to  bother  us  ; 
she  's  so  everlasting  ugly  —  if  I  do  say  it !  " 

Mrs.  Jackwood  dropped  her  "  flat "  upon  the  kitchen  table, 
where  she  was  ironing  a  Rigglesty  cap,  and  met  Charlotte  smil- 
ingly at  the  door ;  while  the  elder  Abimelech,  who  was  engaged 
in  tinkering  the  old  lady's  trunk  on  the  inside  (her  travelling 
trunk,  of  course),  put  his  head  out  and  reached  over,  —  after 
rubbing  his  fingers  on  his  trousers,  —  to  shake  hands  with  the 
visitor. 

"  Here  's  our  Cha'lotte,  gran'mother  !  " 

The  old  lady,  bending  painfully  over  a  basin  at  the  stove,  occu- 
pied in  washing  out  the  Good  Samaritan  in  a  little  dab  of  suds, 
looked  up  with  a  faint  simper  of  recognition. 

"  0,  how  d'e  do  ?  "  —  she  pulled  her  shawl  about  her  neck,  with 
the  tips  of  her  wet  fingers,  as  if  she  felt  a  draft  of  air  from  some- 
where in  the  direction  of  Charlotte.  "  Ye  ben  well  ?  " 

Charlotte  had  been  quite  well ;  and  how  was  Mrs.  Iligglesty? 


PARTINGS.  169 


"  O,  't  an't  o'  much  consequence  about  me  !  Still,  it 's  perlitc 
to  ask,  I  s'pose.  I  an't  a  bit  well.  I  never  be,  late  years. 
Slavin'  for  my  childern  's  wore  my  constitution  all  down  to  Deta- 
in'. An'  sence  the  day  I  got  my  feet  wet  in  that  'ere  plaguy 
boat,  I  've  ben  wus  'n  ever.  I  Ve  the  terrible-est  crickin'  pain 
from  my  left  ear  all  the  way  down  my  shoulder  to  the  small  o' 
my  back ;  nobody  knows  nothin'  't  all  what  I  suffer  with  't,  an 
more  'n  all  that,  I  don't  suppose  nobody  cares." 

And,  dropping  a  silent  tear  in  the  dish  of  suds,  she  went  on 
squeezing  the  Good  Samaritan,  snuffing  and  sighing  audibly. 

"  Gran'mother  's  goin'  to  quit  us  to-day,"  said  Mr.  Jackwood, 
"  an'  I  'm  sure  I  don'  know  how  we  're  goin'  to  git  along  without 
her !  " 

"  0,  I  shan't  be  missed  !  I  'm  nothin'  but  a  burden,  seems,  in 
some  places !  I  got  a  darter  down  to  Sawny  Hook,  —  that 's  one 
comfort,  —  an'  if  she  's  half  as  glad  to  see  me  as  other  folks  be  to 
git  red  on  me,  I  shall  be  thankful.  I  got  this  'ere  han'some  han'- 
kerchi'f,"  —  wringing  out  the  Good  Samaritan,  —  "  to  make  a 
present  on  't  to  one  o'  the  childern  ;  but  there  han't  neither  on  'em 
desarved  it,  an'  I  don't  see  but  I  shall  haf  to  carry  it  back  to  give 
to  some  o'  Dolly's  folks,  arter  all." 

Phrebe,  in  an  under  tone  :  "  They  're  welcome  to  the  old 
thing,  for  all  me !  For  my  part,  I  shall  be  glad  to  see  the 
last  on  't." 

Old  lady  :  "  What 's  that  gal  rnutterin'  ?  Come,  empty  out 
these  suds,  an'  gi  me  some  rensin'  water,  can't  ye  ?  I  want  to 
git  the  han'kerchi'f  to  dryin',  so  's  't  we  won't  haf  to  put  off  iron- 
in'  on  't  till  the  very  last  thing.  I  'm  afeard  I  shan't  be  able  to 
git  away  to-day,  arter  all." 

At  this  alarming  suggestion,  Phoebe  sprang,  with  alacrity,  to  dc 
the  old  lady's  bidding.  In  her  haste,  she  bespattered  Abimelech 
and  Corny,  who  were  approaching  the  kitchen  door. 

"  Here  !  "  cried  Bim  ;  "  that 's  smart !  Guess  ye  better  look  ! 
Firin'  yer  darned  old  suds  all  over  a  feller  !  " 

"  Bim'lech  !  "  said  Mr.  Jackwood  ;  "  what 's  that  ?  " 

"  Wai,  she  might  ta'  care  !  I  '11  git  a  hull  dipper  full,  and  fir€ 
back,  next  time  !  " 

15 


170  PARTINGS. 


Mr.  Jackwood  :  "  There,- there,  you  're  a  terrible  injured  boy 
What  does  Corny  want  ?  " 

Corny,  soberly  :  "  I  come  perty  nigh  fergittin'  my  errant,  arter 
all.  I  'd  got  started  for  hum  'fore  I  thought  Mr.  Dunbury  said  I 
might  leave  the  buggy,  an'  hitch  on  to  your  one-hoss  wagin,  if  you 
can  spare 't  's  well 's  not.  Hector  's  goin'  away,  an'  we  want  to 
take  his  trunks  over  to  town." 

"  Hector  going  !  "  echoed  Phoebe.     "  Not  to  stay,  is  he  ?  " 

"  I  don't  s'pose  he  'd  take  his  trunks  if  he  was  corain'  right  back 
Mabby  Charlotte  knows." 

"  Why,  you  never  spoke  of  it,  Charlotte  '.  " 

Old  lady  :  "  I  should  n't  think  community  'd  mourn  much  ! 
He's  the  sa'ciest  young  man,  —  an' so  disagreeable!  jest  like  his 
daddy,  for  all  the  world,  tho'  I  don't  know  't  he  drinks." 

Mr.  Jackwood  :  "  He  's  dre'ful  smart,  though.  I  alluz  got 
along  with  Hector.  'Bout  the  wagon,  Corny,  —  I  dono'.  We 
got  to  go  over  with  gran'mother,  some  time  this  forenoon." 

Bim,  brightly  :  "  She  might  ride  with  Mr.  Dunbury's  folks.'' 

"I  guess  't- won't  be  wuth  while  for  me  to  go  at  all,  if  it's 
goin'  to  make  so  much  fuss.  As  for  ridin'  with  them  'ere 
Dunburys  —  " 

And,  giving  the  Good  Samaritan  a  revengeful  twist  and  shake, 
the  old  lady  hung  him  before  the  stove  to  dry,  with  an  air  which 
sufficiently  expressed  her  sentiments  on  that  subject. 

Mrs.  Jackwood,  whose  wits  were  sharpened  by  the  bare  thought 
of  the  old  lady's  being  detained,  proposed  that  Mr.  Dunbury 
should  have  the  wagon,  and  take  aboard  her  big  trunk,  in  pass- 
ing ;  and  that  the  old  lady  herself  should  be  transported,  with 
her  lesser  baggage,  in  the  buggy.  Corny  thought  this  arrange- 
ment would  suit  "  fust-rate,"  and  accordingly  took  his  departure. 

"  I  'm  real  glad  !  "  said  Phrcbe  ;  "for  Hector  '11  have  to  stop, 
MX!  we  can  bid  him  good-by,  can't  we,  Charlotte?" 

The  Jackwood  family  worked  industriously.  Mrs.  Jackwood 
assisted  in  packing  the  trunk  and  doing  up  bundles,  while  Phrcbe 
Sat- ironed  the  Good  Samaritan  with  a  vengeance.  For  the  first 
time  in  his  life,  Bim  showed  a  disposition  to  do  something  for  the 
o!d  lady ;  and  Rover,  impressed  with  the  spirit  of  the  household, 


PARTINGS.  171 


took  it  into  hia  head  to  facilitate  business  by  running  away  with 
her  shoe. 

At  length  all  was  ready ;  and  Mrs.  Rigglesty,  in  her  black 
bombazine,  with  her  bonnet  and  cloak  on,  and  her  shawl  about 
her  neck,  sat  cooking  her  feet  in  the  stove-oven,  and  sipping  a 
cup  of  boiling-hot  tea.  A  quiet  glee  inspired  Phoebe,  and  Biin 
manifested  a  naughty  inclination  to  dance  a  hornpipe  under  the 
stoop. 

"  I  believe  I  've  got  everything  aboard,"  observed  Mr.  Jack- 
wood,  looking  serious  as  possible. 

"  I  suppose  you  're  in  a  hurry  to  git  me  off !  "  sighed  the  old 
lady.  "  Wai,  you  won't  be  troubled  with  me  agin  very  soon.  la 
my  luncheon  in  the  bag  ?  I  wish  there  'd  ben  a  bit  of  cold  ham 
to  go  long  with  it ;  but  never  mind.  Take  this  hot  brick,  Bim' 
lech." 

"  Bim'lech  !  "  said  Mr.  Jackwood,  in  a  sup  pressed -voice,  "  quit 
your  laughin' !  " 

"  I  was  in  hopes  that  -lyin'  pedler  'd  be  this  way  agin,  'fore  I 
went.  If  he  ever  does  show  his  face  here,  I  hope  you  '11  give  him 
a  sound  blessin',  among  ye,  and  git  back  the  money  he  swindled 
me  out  of,  for  them  shoes.  —  There,  if  you  han't  dropped  that 
brick !  " 

Abimelech,  chagrined  :  "  I  could  n't  help  it,  it 's  so  tarnal  hot ! " 

Old  lady  :  "  And  you  've  broke  it,  I  do  declare  !  I  might 
knowed  you  would  !  You  are  the  carelessest  child  —  " 

Mr.  Jackwood, :  "  Never  mind.  We  '11  make  this  answer  till 
we  git  to  the  village,  and  take  along  another  to  heat  at  the 
tavern." 

Old  lady,  moving  :  "  0,  dear,  1  'm  down  sick  !  I  'm  no  more 
fit  to  be  trav'lin'  'n  I  be  to  fly  ;  but  I  s'pose  I  must  go.  Tuck  my 
shawl  up  around  my  neck  a  little,  Betsy." 

Mr.  Jackwood,  cheerily  :  "  Step  right  up  in  the  chair,  gran'- 
mother  !  Hold  the  boss,  Bim'lech." 

Old  lady,  very  desponding  :  "  I  don't,  for  the  life  of  me,  see 
how  I  'm  ever  goin'  to  git  'way  up  in  that  high  buggy  !  0,  ho, 
hum  !  Don't  le'  me  slip  i  Hold  the  chair,  somebody !  Here, 
Betsy,  gi'  me  your  shoulder.  Who  ever  see  fiuh  an  awk'ard 


172  PARTINGS. 


thing  to  git  into  !  0  !  "  —  with  a  sudden  scream,  —  "  that  crick 
in  my  back  !  it 's  killed  me  !  0,  dear  !  " 

Mr.  Jackwood  :  "  There  you  be,  mother  !  You  '11  find  that  an 
easy  seat  to  ride  on.  How  's  your  back  now  ?  " 

"  0,  wal,  —  't  won't  trouble  nobody  much  longer,  that 's  some 
consolation  !  If  I  only  live  to  git  to  Sawney  Hook,  I  shall  have 
reason  to  be  thankful.  My  umbrel',  Phoebe  !  I  thought  every- 
thing was  ready." 

The  umbrella  was  at  hand.  Phoebe  passed  it  up  with  her 
good-by. 

"  I  s'pose  that  means  good  riddance  !  "  muttered  grandmother 
Rigglesty.  "  There  han't  none  on  ye  kissed  me." 

Mrs.  Jackwood,  to  facilitate  matters,  gave  the  example  ;  Phoebe 
following  with  an  expeditious  smack. 

Bim,  aside  to  Charlotte  :  "  I  'm  darned  glad  I  an't  no  taller  !  " 

Old  lady  :  "  Come,  sonny  !  Ye  han't  ben  a  bit  good  boy  sence 
I  ben  here  ;  but  I  '11  kiss  ye." 

Bim,  reluctantly  :  "  Can't  reach  up  !•" 

Mr.  Jackwood :  "  Come,  boy,  we  're  waitin'  for  ye  ;  git  up  in 
the  chair.  Kiss  your  gran'mother." 

Bim  stepped  up  ;  made  a  wry  face ;  received  a  kiss  ;  and,  get- 
ting down,  with  a  violent  scowl,  scoured  his  lips  on  his  sleeve  as 
he  went  to  open  the  gate. 

So  the  modern  Eve  rode  out  of  Paradise  in  Mr.  Dunbury's 
buggy.  Like  our  first  parents,  on  a  like  occasion, 

"  Some  natural  tears  she  shed,  but  wiped  them  soon  ; " 

the  Good  Samaritan  being  brought  freshly  into  service  after 
Phoebe's  ironing. 

"  Sick  'em,  Rove ! "  said  Bim,  recklessly,  as  the  fussy  shawl 
and  hated  bombazine  passed  through  the  gate,  with  the  faded  cotton 
umbrella  spread  against  the  wind. 

Rover  barked  ;  Phoebe  skipped  and  sang  ;  and  Mrs.  Jackwood's 
genial  face  looked  smiling  as  a  landscape  after  a  long  rain.  But 
it  was  all  a  weary  pantomime  to  Charlotte,  whose  sad  eyes  beheld 
the  departure  from  the  kitchen  window. 


PARTINGS.  173 


Scarce  had  the  gloomy  umbrella  disappeared,  when  Mr.  Dun- 
bury  drove  by  with  Hector. 

"  Why,  if  they  han't  gone  and  forgot  gran'mother's  trunk  !  " 

And  Phoebe  ran  out,  bareheaded,  screaming  at  the  top  of  hei 
voice.  This  was  the  first  intimation  Mr.  Dunbury  had  received 
with  regard  to  extra  baggage,  Corny  having  naturally  forgotten 
to  do  his  errand. 

"  You  was  going  without  bidding  anybody  good-by,  too  !  "  cried 
Phoebe.  "  Did  n't  ye  know  Charlotte  was  here  ?  Wait ;  I  '11  tell 
her,  —  she  '11  come  out." 

Ah !  there  were  two  hearts  that  throbbed  strangely,  at  thosa 
words  !  Happy  Phoebe,  who  knew  nothing  of  the  agony  of  either 

Charlotte  had  fled  to  Mrs.  Jackwood's  room.  Her  face  was 
bowed  and  hidden. 

"  Why  ! "  cried  Phoebe ;  "  why  don't  you  come  ?   He  's  waiting." 

"  Say  good-by  for  me,  Phcebe.     It  will  be  the  same  to  him." 

"  How  you  act,  Charlotte  !  You  han't  been  a  bit  like  yourself 
to-day  !  What  ails  you  ?  " 

"  Do  leave  me,  good  Phoebe  ! "  pleaded  Charlotte. 

Phoebe  complied  reluctantly.  By  this  time  Mr.  Dunbury,  with 
Birn's  powerful  assistance,  had  loaded  up  the  old  lady's  trunk,  and 
made  all  ready  for  a  start. 

"  She  won't  come,"  said  Phoebe.  "  I  guess  she  thinks  you  don't 
want  to  see  her.  I  wish  you  'd  go  in  a  minute  ;  but  I  s'pose  you 
won't.  What  shall  I  tell  her  for  you  ?  " 

A  swelling  grief  in  Hector's  heart  choked  back  the  little  message 
he  would  have  sent.  Yet  he  shook  hands  with  Phoebe,  and  smiled 
upon  her  April  tears,  and  expressed  a  kindly  wish  at  parting ;  and 
so  rode  off,  outwardly  calm,  but  with  the  insupportable  thought 
burning  and  aching  in  his  soul,  that  the  tragic  curtain  had  fallen, 
to  darken  henceforth  between  him  and  her  he  loved,  forever. 
15* 


XIX. 

THE   DOVE   AND   THE   SERPENT. 

IN  its  better  moments,  the  soul  looks  with  clear  vision  upon  tho 
confused  drama  of  life,  and  sees  use  and  meaning  everywhere. 
Wisdom  and  beauty  shift  the  scenes.  The  tragic  and  comic  unite 
in  holy  marriage,  bringing  alternate  laughter  and  tears,  joy  and 
trial,  and  love,  and  mighty  sorrow,  to  the  development  and  expan- 
sion of  man's  entire  nature. 

But  there  are  times  when,  from  the  shock  of  some  terrible  ex- 
perience, we  grope,  stunned  and  blinded,  amid  the  ruins  of  happi- 
ness, and  believe  ourselves  the  mere  playthings  of  chance.  It  was 
so  with  Charlotte  now.  What  this  last  great  trial  was  for,  she 
could  not  divine.  How  like  a  dream  it  all  appeared !  Here  she 
was  again  in  Mr.  Jackwood's  house :  life  then  was  the  same  as  it 
had  been  a  few  short  months  before  :  but,  in  the  interim,  what  an 
existence  had  she'  lived  ! 

Mrs.  Dunbury  sent  early  for  Charlotte  to  return  to  the  shelter 
of  her  abode.  But  she  could  not  go  back  there.  Hector's  home 
could  not  be  her  home.  Where  he  had  lived,  she  could  not  be  at 
rest.  Nor  could  her  spirit  find  peace  with  her  old  friends. 

"  Do  you  recollect,"  said  Phrobe,  "  the  day  when  Mr.  Dunbury 
called  to  borry  our  wagon,  and  told  us  Hector  was  coming  home  ? 
How  long  ago  it  seems  !  Does  it  to  you  ?  Everybody  thought, 
one  time,  he  was  paying  attention  to  you  ;  and  I  expected,  much 
as  could  be,  you  'd  be  married.  0,  do  you  remember  the  stone  he 
give  me  for  a  keepsake,  the  day  you  ketehed  me  asleep  by  the 
fence  ?  "  And  Phoebe,  running  to  her  closet,  and  taking  out  the 
cobble,  rolled  it  upon  the  floor.  "  It  'e  like  men's  hearts,  he  said, 
and  told  me  to  look  at  it  whenever  I  was  in  dunger  of  falling  in 


THE    DOVE    AND    THE    SERPENT.  175 


love.  An't  he  the  queerest  mortal  you  ever  see  ?  But  I  think 
he  's  splendid  !  —  don't  you  ?  There  's  Bertha  Wing,  and  I  don't 
know  how  many  others,  would  give  their  eyes  to  git  him.  I  know 
I  would,"  said  Phoebe,  frankly.  "  But  this  summer  he  never 
appeared  to  care  for  anybody  but  you.  Maybe  you  might  'a  got 
him,  —  don't  you  suppose  you  might,  if  you  had  tried?" 

One  afternoon,  Phoebe  came  running  to  Charlotte,  iti  high 
glee. 

"  You  can't  think  who  's  come  !  My  heart  almost  hopped  out 
of  my  mouth  when  I  saw  him  ride  up." 

Charlotte  started,  as  Hector's  image  flashed  momentarily  before 
her. 

"  How  does  my  hair  look  ?  "  cried  Phoebe.  "  Come  up  stairs  ; 
I  '11  put  on  my  dc-laine  dress.  Mother  !  ask  him  into  the  setting- 
room.  There  's  his  knock  !  " 

Ah !  too  well  poor  Charlotte  knew  that  knock  ;  and  it  was 
needless  now  for  the  excited  Plioebe  to  whisper,  "  It 's  Hubert 
Greenwich  ! " 

"  I  wonder  if  he  knows  you  are  here  !  "  said  Miss  Jackwood, 
closing  the  chamber  door.  "  Though  I  'm  sure  he  's  come  to  see 
me  !  You  would  n't  be  surprised,  if  you  knew  half  the  things  he 
said  to  me  the  other  day.  Will  you  hook  my  dress  ?  How  nerv- 
ous I  be  !  Don't  you  like  Robert  ?  What  a  splendid  moustache 
he  wears  !  " 

Charlotte  assisted  her  friend  to  arrange  her  dress ;  and,  in 
return,  Phoebe  generously  invited  her  to  go  down  and  share  the 
visitor  with  her. 

"  No,  I  thank  you,"  said  Charlotte.  "  If  he  has  called  to  see 
you,  I  should  be  an  intruder." 

-  The  idea  flattered  Phoebe ;  and  she  had  no  wish  to  urge  the 
point.  Having  taken  a  last  critical  glance  at  her  beauty  in  the 
glass,  and  given  her  "beau-catchers"  a- final  polish,  she  descended 
alone,  simpering  and  blushing,  to  charm  the  smitten  Robert, 

The  visitor  staid  nearly  an  hour ;  during  which  time,  at  his 
suggestion,  Charlotte  was  twice  invited  to  the  sitting-room.  But 
she  persisted  in  her  determination,  and  at  length  the  foiled  hypo- 
s-it ?  took  his  leave. 


176         THE  DOVE  AND  THE  SERPENT. 


"  0,  I  had  such  a  nice  chat !  "  exclaimed  Phoebe,  running  up 
stairs.  "  Say,  he  's  coming  again  !  Have  I  got  pretty  eyes  ?  " 

"  Did  he  tell  you  so  ?  " 

The  elated  child  smiled  at  herself  in  the  glass,  and  put  on  self- 
complacent  airs. 

"  0,  I  an't  going  to  tell !  If  he  did,  I  suppose  it  was  in  fun. 
lie  talked  ever  so  much  about  you,  and  asked  how  long  you  are 
going  to  stay  here,  and  whether  you  correspond  with  Hector.  ITe 
said  I  need  n't  mention  it  to  you  ;  but  I  did  n't  promise.  Wt  ild 
you  care  if  he  thought  I  was  handsomer  than  you  ?  " 

Charlotte  smiled.  "  I  should  not  be  at  all  displeased,  my  dear 
Phcebe !  " 

Phcebe,  affectedly  :  "  I  don't  say  he  does,  you  know.  If  he  said 
so,  he  probably  did  n't  mean  it.  His  moustache  is  perfectly 
bewitching,  any  way  !  " 

Charlotte  ventured  to  utter  a  few  gentle  words  of  warning 
against  the  fascinations  of  that  gay  moustache.  But  Phcebe  would 
not  listen  to  reason. 

"Hector  was  jealous  of  Ilobert,  and  prejudiced  you  against 
him,  or  else  you  would  n't  speak  so.  How  old  should  you  think 
he  was?  Not  over  twenty-four,  is  he?  I  shall  be  seventeen 
next  July." 

So  Phcebe  chatted,  on  the  same  delicious  theme,  all  that  day, 
the  next,  and  the  day  after.  On  the  third  day,  Ilobert  came 
again.  This  time  he  brought  his  sister  Etty,  the  genius ;  by 
which  stratagem  he  managed  to  compel  Charlotte's  presence,  en- 
gage her  in  conversation,  and  make  Phoebe  jealous.  The  latter 
showed  a  good  deal  of  spite  towards  her  innocent  friend ;  but 
when  the  visitors  had  gone,  Charlotte  talked  with  her  so  unself- 
ishly and  kindly,  showing  her  what  a  little  fool  she  was,  that  she 
gave  vent  to  her  vexation  in  a  shower  of  tears,  embraced  her  com- 
panion, asked  her  forgiveness,  and  felt  better. 

On  the  following  day,  Ilobert  took  the  girls  by  surprise,  as  they 
were  walking  together  by  the  creek. 

"  Who  would  have  thought  I  should  be  here  again  so  soon  ?  " 
In  cried,  gayly.  "  Is  an  excuse  necessary  ?  " 

'  0,  no !  "  said  PhoeLe. 


THE  DOVE  AND  THE  SERPENT.          177 


"  Then  I  wish  my  excuse  .would  keep  until  another  time.  But 
the  truth  is,  I  left  a  pair  of  gloves  here  yesterday." 

Phoebe  :  "  I  have  n't  seen  any.     What  kind  of  gloves?  " 

Robert  entered  upon  a  grave  and  minute  description  of  the 
articles  in  question,  expressing  his  conviction  that  they  were  on 
the  mantel-piece,  under  the  clock ;  and  it  was  expected  of  Phoebe 
to  go  and  find  them. 

"  You  '11  wait  for  me  here  ?  " 

'  Certainly.  Go  quick  !  If  you  don't  find  them  under  the 
clock,  look  under  the  bureau ;  if  they  are  n't  there,  hunt  for  'em 
in  the  barn.  —  The  goose !  "  laughed  Robeit ;  "  see  her  run  !  " 

Charlotte,  indignantly  :  "  It 's  wicked  to  deceive  her  so  !  " 

"  Then  love  will  have  many  sins  to  answer  for.  Every  artifice 
seems  right  by  which  I  get  near  you.'' 

"  But  you  have  made  her  believe  you  love  her !  " 

"The  ninny!  did  she  tell  you  so?  But  why  so  angry?  I 
wish  I  could  think  't  was  jealousy ;  then  I  should  have  some 
hopes.  But  we  have  no  time  to  quarrel.  The  simpleton  will  be 
back  presently,  —  unless  she  breaks  her  neck,  as  I  devoutly  pray 
she  may  !  Have  you  heard  from  Hector  ?  " 

A  shadow  swept  over  Charlotte's  face. 

"  How  should  I  hear  from  him  ?     Why  do  you  ask  ?  " 

"  Because  —  I  have  heard  from  him  !  " 

Charlotte  started.  The  villain  smiled,  showing  the  edge  of  his 
white  teeth  under  his  moustache. 

"  I  had  a  letter  this  morning.  It  was  written  on  board  tho 
ship  Excelsior,  bound  for  California.  Would  you  like  to  see  it?" 

She  did  not  speak  ;  she  kept  her  large,  intense  eyes  fixed  upon 
a  willow-twig  she  turned  swiftly  round  and  round  in  her  fingers. 

"  Indifferent,  are  you  ?  "  Again  Robert's  teeth  showed  theii 
white  points  beneath  his  moustache.  "  He  mentions  your  name 
-•shall  I  tell  you  what  he  says?  " 

Faster  still  beat  Charlotte's  heart ;  faster  still  she  twirled  tho 
willow-twig.  Robert  opened  a  letter,  and  read. 

"  '  I  had  a  queer  experience  with  that  girl,  Rob.  But  it  is  all 
over  now.  The  spell  is  broken.  I  was  a  great  fool,  where  you 
wou'd  have  been  a  great  villain  ! '  Complimentary  to  me,  as  ever 


178          THE  DOVE  AND  THE  SERPENT. 


you  see!  Still,  he  can't  do  withoutt  me.  He  invites  me  to  meet 
him  in  San  Francisco." 

The  light  of  Robert's  eye,  and  the  glitter  of  his  teeth,  became 
lynx-like,  as  he  watched  her.  Her  restless  fingers  dropped  the 
twig.  He  stooped  to  pick  it  up ;  but  she  put  her  foot  upon  it. 

"  Show  me  that  letter !  " 

"So,  you  have  changed  your  mind?  Here  it  is.  But,  since 
you  declined  it  before,  you  shall  give  me  a  kiss  for  it  now," 

"  Give  me  the  letter  !  "  and  down  went  Charlotte's  little  foot 
upon  the  grass. 

Robert  laughed  impudently,  but  she  kept  her  eyes  on  his,  and 
held  out  her  commanding  hand. 

"  The  kiss  !  "  said  Robert. 

"  I  would  not  give  you  that  for  fifty  letters,  with  fifty  fortunes, 
each  with  fifty  slaves  like  you  !  " 

"  I  like  your  temper !  Here,  —  take  the  letter !  "  But  Rub 
ert  knew  she  would  not  have  it  then.  '  She  had  turned  her  back 
upon  him  scornfully.  "  At  least,  tell  me  if  you  have  any  mes 
sage  to  send  to  Hector,"  —  and  he  held  her  arm. 

"  Let  me  go  !  "  she  cried,  with  haughty  mien.  "  Your  touch 
makes  me  shudder  !  Is  not  that  enough  ?  " 

"  You  speak  very  plainly  !  "  said  Robert. 

"  So  I  can  afford  to  speak.  I  have  feared  to  offend  you  here- 
tofore, because  it  has  been  in  your  power  to  crush  me." 

"  Has  been  ?  "  repeated  Robert,  significantly. 

"  Has  been,  —  and  is  ;  but  I  do  not  care  much  now.  Come 
what  will,  I  am  ready  to  meet  it." 

The  impure  flame  in  Robert's  eyes  could  not  endure  the  light 
of  her  clear  orbs.  He  shivered  from  head  to  foot. 

"  You  are  a  noble  girl,"  he  muttered,  stifling  the  rage  that 
stung  him.  "Bat  you  wrong  me;  and  it  is  my  fault,  perhaps. 
I  have  not  said  to  you  what  I  would  say,  because  you  would 
never  hear  me.  It  is  from  no  mean  motive  that  I  follow  you  ;  I 
am  true  and  sincere ;  I  would  make  you  my  wife." 

As  Charlotte  looked  upon  him,  her  whole  form  seemed  to  un- 
dulate and  expand  with  emotions  that  swelled  up  from  the  depths 
of  her  injured  soul. 


THE  DOVE  ANU  THE  SERPENT.          179 


"  A  generous  offer  What  more  you  could  have  said,  I  do  not 
know!  I  thank  you1  Still,  suffer  me  to  be  true.  My  entire 
nature  shrinks  at  the  thought  of  giving  myself  to  one  I  do  not 
love  By  no  law,  human  or  divine,  can  I  ever,  ever  be  you^. 
So  1  have  the  same  answer  for  you  I  had  before.  You  may  bo 
viu  lictive,  or  you  may  be  generous :  I  have  been  true :  I  have 
no  more  to  say." 

Robert  was  astounded. 

"  Stop  !  "  he  aspirated,  —  "  Charlotte  !  " 

Impassioned,  quivering,  flushed,  he  strove  to  clasp  her;  but  she 
escaped  his  arm.  He  caught  her  cape ;  and,  tearing  it  from  her 
throat,  she  left,  it  in  his  grasp.  With  a  quick,  desperate  step,  he 
followed  her  in  the  meadow,  but  stopped  suddenly,  with  a  cunse 
muttered  through  his  teeth,  at  sight  of  Phoebe.  She  was  approach- 
ing, out  of  breath,  to  tell  him  that  no  gloves  were  to  be  found. 

"  Why  !  what  is  the  matter  with  Charlotte?  " 

"  We  have  had  a  terrible  quarrel !  " 

Phoebe,  with  great  eyes :  "  About  what  ?  " 

"  About  you,  darling !  She  is  jealous.  Watch  her,  Phoebe.  I 
shall  walk  by  the  corner  of  the  orchard  this  evening  at  nine ; 
meet  me  there,  and  I  will  tell  you  more." 

And,  leaving  Phoebe  flattered  and  excited  by  the  important 
charge,  Robert  retreated  across  the  field. 

That  night  Charlotte  conferred  with  Mr.  Jackwood,  whom  she 
found  the  same  prompt  and  hearty  friend  a^  of  old.  His  earnest 
sympathy,  and  his  ready  promise  of  secrecy  and  aid,  brought  tears 
of  gratitude  to  her  eyes. 

"How  shall  I  ever  repay  you?  " 

"  Don't  speak  o'  that !  I  only  wish  I  could  do  suthin1  hansuin 
by  ye,"  said  the  farmer.  —  "  Hark !  who  's  there?  " 

Phoube  entered,  with  a  shawl  over  her  head. 

"  1  thought  ye  was  abed  long  ago  !     Where  ye  ben?  " 

Phoebe,  very  innocently  :  "  Nowheres  —  only  setting  under  the 
stoop  a  little." 

"  And  here  it  is  'most  ten  o'clock  !  Be  ye  crazy?  I  hope  yo 
han't  ketched  yer  death-o'-cold,  in' the  night-air.  Go  to  bed! 
Cha'lotte  an'  me  's  havin'  a  talk  "t  an't  necessary  you  should  hear." 


180          THE  DOVE  AND  THE  SERPENT. 


Phcobe,  pretending  obedience,  lighted  a  candle,  and  withdrew. 
But  the  young  girl  had  impressed  Charlotte  strangely;  and,  hav- 
ing vainly  attempted  to  pursue  the  subject  on  which  she  had  been 
conversing  with  Mr.  Jackwood,  she  bade  him  good-night,  and 
opened  the  entry-door  just  in  time  to  hear  a  step  and  the  rustling 
of  a  dress,  and  catch  a  glimpse  of  Phoebe's  candle  vanishing  up 
the  stairs. 

On  the  following  day,  Phoebe  gave  her  lather  no  peace,  in  her 
persistent  efforts  to  draw  frein  him  the  secret  of  his  talk  with 
Charlotte. 

"  What  a  botheration  you  be  !  "  exclaimed  the  indulgent  Jack- 
wood.  "  Will  ye  keep  it  to  yourself,  if  I  tell  ye  ?  " 

"  Of  course  1  will  —  if  it 's  anything  I  don't  ought  to  tell," 
added  Phoebe,  securing  that  loop-hole  for  her  conscience. 

"  Wai,  I  'xpect  we  're  goin'  to  lose  Cha'lotte.  Spite  of  all  I 
can  say,  she  thinks  she  must  be  goin'  away  to-morrow." 

"  Going  ?  "  echoed  Phoebe,  startled.     ««  Where  ?  " 

"  That  I  don'  know  myself;  only  I  'm  to  carry  her  over  to  the 
railroad  in  time  for  the  train  't  goes  north." 

Phoebe  was  touched ;  Phoebe  was  softened  ;  Phoebe  was  no  lon- 
ger jealous.  She  ran  to  ChaVlotte,  and  threw  her  arms  around 
her  neck. 

"  I  knew  something  was  the  matter !  "  Ac  stammered  forth. 
"  You  're  going  off,  and  it's  me  that's  made  you  so  unhappy  you 
can't  stay  !  And  you  won't  never  forgive  me,  —  I  don't  see  how 
you  can  ! " 

"  My  dear  child  !  "  said  Charlotte,  very  tenderly,  "  you  havo 
been  a  little  unjust  to  me,  but  you  have  a  good  heart ;  and  I  do 
forgive  you,  most  sincerely." 

"  I  'm  ashamed  of  myself!  "  exclaimed  Miss  Jackwood.  "  I 
never  knew  anybody  half  so  good  as  you  be,  nor  anybody  that  I 
ever  loved  half  so  well.  And  I  won't  ever  see  you  again  !  " 

"  Perhaps  not,  dear  child  !  " 

Then  Phoebe  threw  herself  wildly  upon  a  chair,  and  indulged  in 
spasms,  and  refused  to  be  comforted  on  any  account. 

-  Why,    Phoebe ! "     said   her  mother ;    "  you    shan't   act   So 
V"ou  '11  break  a  b!oodr 


THE  DOVE  AND  THE  SERPENT.          181 


Still  Phoebe  tortured  herself;  nor  would  she  suffer  anything  to 
come  between  her  and  her  grief,  until  Bim  appeared,  driving  Ro- 
ver in  harness.  The  pleasing  novelty  had  a  singularly  quieting 
effect  upon  her  nerves ;  and,  five  minutes  later,  she  might  have 
been  seen  busily  engaged  in  sewing  together  strips  of  cloth  for 
traces,  with  the  understanding  that  when  the  silly-looking  cur  was 
properly  attached  to  the  wagon,  she  should  be  allowed  to  drive. 
Still  her  grief  returned  at  intervals,  and  was  very  violent  indeed. 
It  did  not,  however,  prevent  her  from  keeping  an  appointment  she 
had  made  to  meet  Mr.  Greenwich  that  night;  and  afterward, 
going  late  to  bed,  she  slept  so  soundly,  that,  when  ca-lled  to  break- 
fast, next  morning,  she  dreamed  that  her  mother  was  chasing  her 
and  Robert  around  the  orchard  with  a  broom,  and  crying  to  her 
to  stop. 

It  was  a  chill,  cloudy  day,  and,  as  Mr.  Jackwood  drove 
through  the  gate  with  Charlotte,  he  felt  a  rain-drop  strike  his 
hand. 

"  Hold  on !  "  said  he ;  "  we  did  n't  put  in  the  umbrel',  arter 
all !  Fetch  it  'long,  Biin'lech  !  —  Looks  kind  o'  bad  to  see  you 
start  off  on  your  ja'nt  sich  a  day  as  this,  Cha'lotte.  Had  n't  ye 
better  put  it  off  till  fair  weather,  think  ?  " 

But  Charlotte  told  him  no.  The  time  had  come ;  and,  dreary 
as  the  future  seemed,  she  must  go  forth  to  meet  it. 

"  Come,  come !  "  cried  Mr.  Jackwood,  "  what  's  that  boy 
about  ?  " 

"  He  's  trying  to  make  Rover  draw  the  umbrella  on  the  wagon," 
said  Phoebe. 

Bim,  appearing  around  the  corner:  "Git  up,  Rove!  Ile'p ! 
clear  the  track  !  The  big  team  's  comin' !  " 

Mr.  Jackwood  :  "  Quit  yer  nonsense,  boy,  an'  bring  along  that 
umbrel' ! " 

Bim,  stoutly  :  "  An't  I  bringin'  it?  —  Whoa,  —  back  !  " 

The  wagon  had  struck  a  post,  and  lodged.  While  Bim  was 
disengaging  the  vehicle,  Rover  took  advantage  of  a  slack  rein, 
and,  attempting  to  leap  through  a  favorite  hole  in  the  fence,  pro- 
gressed in  the  undertaking  as  far  as  his  hind-quarters,  when  the 
16 


182  THE   DOVE   AND   THE   SERPENT. 


wagon  held  him  fast.  A  terrific  yelping  ensued,  as  Biin  helped 
him  out  of  the  difficulty  by  the  legs. 

"  There  !  "  said  Mr.  Jackwood,  "  don't  le'  me  see  that  dog  har- 
nessed up  agin  to-day  !  " 

He  spread  the  umbrella,  which  Phoebe  handed  up  to  him,  aud, 
having  once  more  earnestly  counselled  Charlotte  to  postpone  her 
expedition,  touched  the  horse  with  the  whip,  and  drove  away. 

Somehow,  Charlotte  could  not  utter  her  "  good-by."  Yet,  as 
the  animal  trotted  slowly  along  the  dusty  road,  amid  the  pattering 
rain,  she  looked  back.  Mrs.  Jackwood  watched  her  from  the  front 
door,  with  a  countenance  full  of  regretful  and  tender  interest. 
Phoebe  stood  at  the  gate,  waving  her  handkerchief  in  the  air, 
and  wiping  her  eyes  with  it,  alternately.  Even  Bim,  although 
ostensibly  engaged  in  training  Rover  to  hold  up  his  foolish  head 
in  harness,  and  keep  his  tail  from  between  his  leg*,  showed 
unmistakable  signs  of  unmanly  weakness,  in  passing  the  corner 
of  his  sleeve -a  cross  his  eyes.  Then  there  was  a  repetition  of  fare- 
wells ;  and  Phoebe  and  her  mother  went  in,  out  of  the  rain; 
and  Charlotte  was  once  more  a  homeless  wanderer  in  the  gloomy 
world. 

Patter,  patter,  went  the  dull  rain,  drumming  upon  the  umbrella, 
checkering  the  dusty  bed  of  the  road,  and  rattling  among  the  dry 
leaves.  The  sky  grew  darker  still,  and  a  long  line  of  showers 
swept  along  the  misty  mountain  side.  Then  a  peculiar  smell  of 
mould,  exhaling  from  the  earth,  loaded  the  atmosphere.  The 
weather  was  chill,  too,  and  Charlotte  found  it  necessary  to  wrap 
her  shawl  closely  about  her,  to  keep  warm. 

They  rode  past  Mr.  Duubury's  house,  and  Charlotte's  sad  eyes 
look  id  their  last  upon  the  spot  that  had  been  more  than  a  home 
to  her,  in  the  summer  that  was  gone.  The  house  stood  silent  and 
gloom)'  in  the  rain ;  the  windows  of  Hector's  chamber  were  closed 
and  curtained ;  and  the  little  portico,  under  which  he  used  to  sit, 
was  desolate  and  deserted.  The  only  living  object  in  view  was 
Corny,  who  sat  upon  the  fence,  under  the  shelter  of  the  door-yard 
trees,  whittling.  Recognizing  the  half-concealed  face  that  peered 
from  the  sombre  background  of  the  umbrella,  he  poised  his  knife 
and  stick,  nodded,  and  grinned.  Mr.  Jackwood  drew  rein  a  mo- 


THE   DOVE   AND    THE   SERPENT.  183 


ment,  to  inquire  after  Mrs.  Dunbury's  health,  and  to  receive  a 
letter,  which  Bridget  brought  out  for  Charlotte,  —  then  drove  on, 
stopping  not  again  until  the  railway-station  was  reached. 

"  By  jingoes  !  "  said  Mr.  Jackwood,  who  never  indulged  in  pro- 
(anity  except  on  exciting  occasions,  "  we  're  jest  in  time  !  There 
comes  the  cars!  Not  many  minutes  to  lose,  nuther;  for  they'll 
be  off  agin  in  a  jiffy." 

Bell  ringing,  steam  whizzing,  wheels  clanging  and  clashing, 
the  engine,  with  the  long  train  behind,  rolled  past  the  platform  of 
the  little  country  station,  and  came  to  a  halt.  During  the  excite- 
DiS;it  of  getting  aboard,  Charlotte  happily  forgot  everything  else. 
She  was  safely  seated,  and  Mr.  Jackwood  had  barely  time  to  give 
her  the  check  for  her  baggage,  and  bid  her  good-by,  when  the 
bell  rang  again,  the  engine  panted  and  gasped,  and  the  train  was 
once  more  in  motion.  She  returned  the  hasty  pressure  of  his 
hand,  but  she  had  no  words  either  of  farewell  or  of  thanks.  The 
next  moment,  he  was  gone ;  only  strangers  surrounded  her ;  and 
the  terrible  engine  thundered  on  with  the  train  that  bore  her 
swiftly  to  an  unknown  destiny,  over  a  dark  and  rainy  land. 

At  first  Charlotte -gave  little  heed  to  external  objects.  Her 
spirit  dwelt  deeply  within  itself.  And  now,  notwithstanding  the 
gloom  and  mist  that  shrouded  the  future,  she  experienced  a  sen.se 
of  relief,  amounting  almost  to  happiness,  in  the  thought  that  thus 
the  past,  with  all  its  errors,  with  all  its  troubles  and  alarms,  was 
swe^t  behind  her,  as  it  were,  into  a  gulf. 

Swiftly,  more  swiftly  still,  sped  the  train,  — :on,  on,  on,  through 
woods  and  vales,  over  streams  and  chasms,  under  the  mountain's 
rocky  ribs,  with  echoing  clang  and  roar.  Charlotte  felt  a  wondrous 
joy  swell  in  her  heart  at  this  wild  speed.  "  Paster,  faster  —  fur- 
ther, further  —  oh,  on,  on !  "  said  her  soul.  When  the  train 
stopped  at  way-stations,  she  became  impatient ;  she  could  scarce 
keep  her  seat ;  she  wished  to  fly. 

Ah !  she  did  not  see  the  crested  snake  that  glided  out  of  the 
abyss  from  which  she  fled,  and  followed  in  her  track,  and  kept  its 
glittering  eyes  upon  her  still ! 

But  once,  when  the  cars  had  stopped,  she  looked  out  of  the 


184  TUE    DOVE    AND    THE    SERPENT. 


window,  and  glanced  her  eye  up  and  down  the  length  of  the 
train. 

There,  upon  the  platform,  stood  the  man  who,  of  all  men,  she 
feared  and  abhorred.  Her  impulse  was  to  withdraw  instantly 
from  view ;  but  already  she  was  observed ;  and  the  detested  face 
approached,  wreathed  in  smiles  of  hypocritical  surprise. 

"  By  what  singular  chance  —  where  in  the  wide  world  are  you 
going  ?  " 

The  shock  and  revulsion  of  the  moment  had  turned  Charlotte's 
heart  to  ice. 

"  The  train  is  off  again  !  "  said  Robert.  "  Since  there  is  rootu 
in  your  car,  I  will  take  a  seat  beside  you.  How  singular  that 
we  should  both  be  travelling  the  same  way  !  " 

She  gave  neither  word  nor  look  in  reply,  nor  did  she  stir  when 
he  entered  and  placed  himself  by  her  side,  but  sat  faint,  and  cold, 
and  still,  while  once  more  the  rushing  and  thundering  wheels  bore 
her  on  and  away. 


XX. 

"  TAFO    NEGATIVES   DESTROY    EACH    OTHER."' 

"  IF  you  please,  sir,"  said  the  girl  behind  the  counter,  '  you 
have  not  paid  for  the  cakes  and  coffee." 

"If — you  —  please,  sir,"  repeated  the  customer,  "you  have 
not  paid  !  —  Simplicity  or  cunning  ?  You  're  a  wonderful  raven  !  " 

He  was  a  tall,  meagre  personage,  with  sunken  cheeks,  a  cadav- 
erous complexion,  a  restless,  glaring  eye,  locks  thin  and  long,  and 
a  fine,  light  beard  flowing  like  a  stream  of  flax  upon  his  breast. 
His  hat  was  bruised  ;  his  coat  soiled  with  the  rain,  and  buttoned 
tight  to  his  throat ;  no  linen  visible ;  boots  and  trousers  bespat- 
tered with  mud. 

"  Havens  fed  the  prophet !  "  His  voice  had  a  sepulchral  sound, 
and  in  speaking  he  started  nervously,  glancing  with  his  quick, 
bright  eyes  from  side  to  side,  with  an  alert  expression.  "  You 
presented  the  cakes ;  you  prevailed  upon  me  to  accept  coffee ;  and 
I  said  Cherith  —  the  brook  that  is  before  Jordan." 

"  The  raven  presents  her  bill,"  suggested  a  glossy  moustache 
near  the  counter. 

As  the  speaker  touched  the  meagre  stranger's  sleeve,  the  latter 
turned,  with  a  shudder,  anil,  flirting  his  arm  violently,  glanced 
at  the  ground  with  an  expression  of  such  loathing,  that  the  spec- 
tators looked  to  see  what  crawling  horror  had  occasioned  {Jie  dis- 
turbance. 

"  What  was  it  ?  "  cried  a  bustling  little  lady,  running  to  the 
spot. 

The  stranger  rubbed  his  arm,  a  smile  of  triumph  flitting  across 
his  pallid  face. 

"It's only  a  shilling,"  insisted  the  girl  at  the  counter. 
16* 


186  TWO    NEGATIVES. 


"  Only  a  shilling,"  ejaculated  the  bustling  little  lady.  "  Deal 
me !  I  thought  something  had  bit  him  !  "  looking  along  the  floor, 
as  if  to  find  the  money. 

"  He  shook  him  off  into  the  fire,  and  he  felt  no  harm  !  "  The 
stranger  turned  indulgently  to  the  .girl' at  the  counter.  "Hear 
Plato  !  Think  you  that  he  who  possesses  magnificent  intellectual 
conceptions,  and  can  contemplate  all  time  and  all  being,  can 
possibly  consider  —  what  do  you  call  it?  —  cakes  and  coffee,  as 
things  of  any  great  importance  ?  The  bitine  of  shillings.  Had 
he  one,  or  two,  or  twenty  —  dust  !  he  w^uld  wash  his  hands  of 
them  !  But,  with  nothing  that  i&  Caesar's,  what  shall  he  render 
unto  Csesar  ?  " 

At  this  juncture,  the  proprietor  of  the  stall,  interposing,  re- 
marked, in  a  decided  tone,  that  he  was  not  Caesar,  and  knew 
nothing  about  Caesar's  affairs ;  but  that,  if  cakes  and  coffee  had 
bjen  consumed,  cakes  and  coffee  were  to  be  paid  for. 

"  If  it 's  only  a  shilling,"  said  a  gentle  voice ;  and  a  veiled 
female,  opening  a  modest  little  purse,  drew  forth  the  required 
change. 

"  Temptation  —  avaunt !  "  said  fhe  delinquent  philosopher. 
"  The  vulgar  pay;  but  great  sculs  are  exempt.  True,"  bowing 
graciously,  "  he  has  been  scoffed  at,  cast  into  prison,  beaten  with 
stripes;  the  fate  of  greatness.  But  what  is  martyrdom  ?  Princi- 
ples are  at  stake.  Choose  you  to  satisfy  these  publicans?  For 
your  soul's  sake,  if  you  have  money,  cast  it  from  you  !  And,  a 
word  of  counsel  !  "  —  with  a  glance  at  the  glossy  moustache  — 
"  beware  of  the  grinning  alligator  !  There  are  evets  in  his  com- 
pany, and  a  brood  of  saucy  young  vipers.  They  ride  on  his 
back,  and  wink  with  their  blood-red  eyes  !  " 

"  Dear  me  !  "  said  the  bustling  little  lady,  "  I  don't  see  any- 
thing !  Where  is  it  ?  " 

The  stranger  recoiled  to  let  the  moustache  pass,  but,  step- 
ping quickly  after,  detained  the  veiled  female  by  the  fringe 
of  her  shawl. 

"  His  home  is  in  the  mud  !  There  let  him  crunch  turtles ; 
but  keep  him  away  from  the  birds'  nests.  He  is  of  the  grinning 
species,  and  his  breath  is  poisonous.  Beware  of  the  shaggy 
jaws !  " 


TWO    NEGATIVES.  187 


With  gentle  force  she  disengaged  her  shawl,  and,  pas.-i'.g  on, 
traversed  a  wet  wharf  at  the  foot  of  the  rainy  town.  Bevond  lay 
a  steamboat,  in  waiting  for  passengers  proceeding  northward  by 
the  lake ;  and,  in  company  with  a  Crowd  of  umbrellas,  carpet- 
bags, band-boxes,  and  hat-boxes,  she  went  hurriedly  aboard.  The 
glossy  moustache  kept  by  her  side;  and  the  bustling  little  lady, 
accompanied  by  a  short,  swaggering  gentleman,  followed  aftt  r. 

The  stranger  stood  holding  aloft  the  hand  that  had  come  in 
contact  with  the  shawl-fringe,  bowing  and  smiling  fantastically. 
Presently  he  seemed  to  fall  into  conversation  with  it ;  when,  sud- 
denly appearing  struck  with  some  forcible  remark  from  his 
imaginary  interlocutor,  he  kissed  it  worshipfully,  and  skipped 
along  the  wharf  to  the  boat.  At  the  door  of  the  ladies'  cabin,  he 
encountered  the  glossy  moustache,  whose  wearer  happened  at 
that  moment  to  be  engaged  in  biting  it  somewhat  savagely. 

"  Creep,  you  creature  !  There  's  your  element,"  pointing  at 
the  lake.  "  You  are  out  of  your  place  above-board." 

As  Robert  Greenwich  did  not  stir,  the  other  moved  cautiously 
by  the  door,  stepping  high,  as  if  walking  over  some  disagreeable 
object,  and  passed  triumphantly  into  the  cabin. 

"  Woman  !  "  —  the  stranger,  advancing  to  the  veiled  feiu,  'e, 
bent  his  tall  form  before  her  —  "I  beg  your  salutation  !  " 

And  straightway  down  he  went  upon  one  knee ;  but,  quick  as 
thought,  Charlotte  had  changed  her  place,  leaving  him  in  that 
rather  singular  posture  before  the  vacant  seat.  Not  the  least 
disconcerted,  regarding  the  movement  sim^V  as  an  invitation  to 
be  seated,  he  arose,  and,  settling  softly  and  reverently  in  the 
place  she  had  occupied,  maintained  a  dignified  deportment  in 
view  of  his  imaginary  honors. 

"  Incognito  !  "  he  said,  significantly.  "  But  I  saw  through  the 
veil.  The  south  wind  came  to  my  nostrils ;  it  breathed  your 
name  in  my  ear  !  " 

Charlotte  started  with  alarm ;  upon  which  a  jubilant  light 
danced  in  the  stranger's  restless  eyes. 

"  What  if  I  whisper  it  ?  "  —  and  his  unshaven  lips  approached 
her  trembling  cheek.  "  The  new  Queen  of  Sheba,  in  searnh  of  a 
fiine  minister '  " 


188  T.'O    NEGATIVES. 


If  there  was  any  mirthful  element  in  this  grave  and  formal 
announcement,  Charlotte's  poor,  startled  heart  could  not  FCC  it. 

"  All  was  foreshadowed,  your  majesty  !  A  queen  was  to  come 
out  of  the  south,  and  she  was  to  be  known  by  her  magnanimity 
and  beauty.  And  the  voice  said  unto  me,  '  Thou  shalt  be  chief 
in  the  New  Jerusalem  ! '  —  that  is,  your  majesty's  prime  minibUr 
Hail  to  the  glorious  dispensation  !  No  pollution  of  money  ,  r.c 
intemperance  ;  no  poverty  ;  no  labor,  except  that  to  which  each 
is  impelled  by  the  affinity  of  his  genius.  The  Seven  Wise  Men 
have  the  credit.  They  are  always  with  me,  —  except  in  potato- 
time  ;  then  bad  spirits  haunt  me." 

Charlotte's  sad  eye  sought  in  vain  among  the  people  moving 
through  the  cabin  for  some  friendly  face,  to  which  she  might 
look  for  relief;  when,  perceiving  Robert's  sinister  visage  peering 
in  at  the  door,  the  thought  came  to  her  that  these  two  negatives 
to  her  happiness,  like  two  negatives  in  a  grammatical  construc- 
tion, might  be  made  to  counteract  each  other. 

"  Do  you  not  observe  that  we  are  watched  ?  "  indicating  nega- 
tive number  one. 

"Alligator's  eyes!"  exclaimed  negative  number  two.  "He 
i°  Amphibious  ;  send  him  to  sea  on  a  chip  !  " 

"  But,  consider  —  we  must  not  speak  together  when  he  is 
near." 

"  His  hide  is  thick  ;  but  there  's  a  sword  to  pierce  'twixt  his 
scales  !  A  warrior  for  the  truth  —  the  queen's  prime  minister 
shall  be  commander-'' u-chief  of  her  forces.  There  's  danger  threat- 
ened from  the  Low  Countries.  I  '11  make  him  my  chariot,  and 
ride  him  home  from  victory.  Ha  !  " 

Negative  number  two  pointed,  triumphantly,  at  the  door. 

Negative  number  one  had  disappeared.  Upon  which  Charlotte 
entreated  negative  number  two  to  follow  the  example. 

"  There  's  slime  on  the  threshold,"  said  number  two,  rising. 
"  I'll  spread  down  my  coat,  when  your  majesty  steps  over.  My 
armor  shall  be  painted  red,  to  cheat  the  enemy  with  the  thought 
't  is  blood.  But  I  '11  ride  a  black  steed,  and  have  a  mantle  of 
darkness,  that  night  and  I  may  be  of  the  same  color  !  Adieu, 
your  majesty  !  When  sent  for,  I  Ml  appear." 


NEGATIVES.  189 


No  sooner  was  Charlotte  left  alone,  than  a  chubby,  smiling 
face,  with  gold  spectacles  and  a  squint,  moyed  over  to  her  from 
the  opposite  side  of  the  cabin.  It  was  the  bustling  little  lady 
from  the  wharf. 

"  Do  tell  me  what  strange  being  is  that !     Is  n't  he  insane  ?  " 

"  I  think  so  ;  but  I  never  saw  him  until  this  hour." 

And  Charlotte,  eager  for  sympathy  and  protection,  proceeded 
to  relate  the  adventure. 

"  Dear  me !  how  queer ! "  exclaimed  the  chubby  little  lady. 
««  An't  you  afraid  of  him  ?  " 

"  0,  no  !  "  Chariotte  smiled  sadly.  "  The  boat  will  start  pres- 
ently ;  he  will  lose  me  and  forget  me,  and  perhaps  go  about  find- 
ing other  princesses." 

"  But  if  he  should  go  with  the  boat  ?  " 

"  0,  he  has  no  money  !  " 

"  He  won't  stop  to  think  of  that !  —  Are  you  travelling 
alone?" 

"  I  have  no  person  on  whom  I  can  depend." 

"  I  '11  tell  my  husband,"  said  the  chubby  lady,  "  and  have  him 
speak  to  the  cap'n ;  that  '11  fix  it !  You  better  keep  with  us, 
had  n't  ye  ?  " 

Charlotte  gladly  accepted  the  proposal ;  then,  the  chubby  lady 
calling  her  husband,  the  chubby  lady's  husband  consulted  an  offi- 
cer of  the  boat,  and  the  officer  of  the  boat  addressed  the  self- 
Btyled  prime  minister.  This  individual  had  not  only  remained 
on  board,  but  he  manifested  a  decided  disinclination  to  going 
ashore ;  and,  to  save  him  from  violent  handling,  Charlotte,  at  the 
chubby  lady's  suggestion,  and  in  the  chubby  lady's  company,  left 
the  saloon,  to  speak  to  him. 

"  Salutation,  your  majesty  !  The  alligator  is  gone,  and  I  keep 
guard.  But  here  are  conspirators  !  They  exact  money,  and 
propose  removing  me  from  the  boat.  If  they  do,  the  boat  shall  go 
with  me.  I  have  Chile's  word  for  it,  in  the  voice  of  the  sacred 
titmouse." 

Chubby  lady,  pressing  forward  :  "  Let  'em  do  it ;  then  have  the 
law  of  'em  !  " 

Prime  minister  :  "  One  of  your  majesty's  suite  ?  " 


190  TWO    NEGATIVES. 


Charlotte  :  "  She  is  a  companion." 

"  Ah  !  the  Duchess  of  Dingledom  !  I  knew  a  duchess  once 
<  As  I  was  going  to  St.  Ives,'  as  they  say  in  the  arithmetic.  Shd 
had  the  crooked  back  of  a  witch,  and  a  crooked  nose  and  chin  ; 
and  in  her  mouth  she  had  a  twitch,  and  in  her  gait  she  had  a 
hitch,  and  in  her  hand  she  carried  a  switch,  to  aid  her  work  of 
sin.  She  had  fifty  imps  for  children.  Go  not  too  near  ler, 
your  majesty ;  she  has  handled  crawling  things.  What  she 
observed  of  law  savors  of  the  profane.  There  shall  be  no  litiga- 
tion in  our  kingdom." 

Charlotte:  "  Nor- resistance.  Go  peaceably  from  the  boat, 
will  you  not  ?  " 

Prime  minister  :  "  That 's  good  calculation  !  Euclid  came, 
in  the  form  of  a  black  humming-bird  with  six  wings,  and  taught 
me  the  new  method  in  three  easy  lessons.  No  offence,  Dingledom  ? 
You  're  an  excellent  creature ;  but  you  need  washing.  If  I  fall 
in  with  the  alligator,  there'll  be  teeth  broken.  Once  more  — 
aJieu,  your  majesty  !  Good-by,  your  grace  !  What  shall  be  the 
signal  ?  " 

Charlotte  placed  her  finger  on  her  lips.  The  prime  minit-tcr 
looked  intelligent ;  bowed  profoundly,  and,  glancing  from  side  to 
side,  with  quick  starts,  as  if  fearing  surprise,  marched  over  the 
plank  to  the  wharf. 

"  To  think ! "  exclaimed  the  chubby  lady,  delighted,  "  he 
called  me  a  duchess  !  How  nicely  we  have  got  rid  of  him  !  " 

Ah,  but  there  was  another  who  could  not  be  got  rid  of  so 
easily  !  Charlotte's  mind  reverted  to  Robert,  and  her  eye  wan- 
dered up  the  street  to  watch  his  coming. 

"  Do  look  at  him  !  "  exclaimed  the  duchess,  alluding  to  nega- 
tive number  two.  "  Where  d'  he  get  that  pitchfork  ?  " 

"A  lance  to  spear  alligators!"  cried  the  prime  minister.  "The 
Seven  Wise  Men  sent  it  by  an  invisible  messenger." 

And,  shouldering  the  implement,  he  marched  to  and  fro  across 
the  wharf,  with  stately  pace,  like,  a  sentinel.  He  had  scarce 
commenced  a  second  turn,  when  the  invisible  messenger  became 
suddenly  visible,  appearing  in  the  form  of  a  juvenile  hostler, 
in  ragged  trousers  and  a  dirty  shirt,  who,  standing  agape  to  see 


TWO    NEGATIVES.  191 


the  steamboat  off,  had  placed  the  fork  temporarily  against  a 
post. 

"  Here  !  "  whined  the  young  Mercury,  running  after  him  "  give 
it  up  '  They  did  n't  send  it  to  ye  !  It 's  mine  !  Pa  wants  it  to 
pitct.  bay  in  the  shed  !  Come  !  " 

The  prime  minister  chose,  however,  to  consider  him  still  invisi- 
ble, and  continued  his  stately  march,  with  strides  magnificent, 
regardless  of  the  clamor  at  his  heels. 

'•  Le's  stay  out  and  watch  him,"  said  the  duchess.  "  It  don't 
rain,  now  ;  and  my  husband  says  the  boat 's  going  to  start  in  a 
few  minutes." 

The  bell  began  to  ring,  and  the  passengers  from  the  wharf 
hurried  aboard.  Still  no  Robert  Greenwich  ;  and  Charlotte  con- 
ceived a  trembling  hope  that  he  might  not  appear. 

"  I  shall  die,  laughing  at  that  crazy  man ! "  exclaimed  the 
duchess.  "  How  funny  the  boy  looks,  with  his  smutty  face  !  He 
is  beginning  to  cry.  I  wonder  why  don't  we  start !  " 

The  bell  continued  to  ring ;  the  steam  escaped  with  a  loud 
noise ;  then  came  three  or  four  sailors,  bearing  a  long  box.  How 
slow  they  were,  thought  Charlotte.  Too  slow,  alas  !  for  while  they 
were  still  upon  the  plank  Robert  Greenwich  appeared^  walking 
at  a  rapid  pace  towards  the  boat.  Charlotte's  heart  sickened. 
How  vain  her  hope  seemed,  then  !  She  should  have  known  that 
one  so  remorseless  and  so  resolute  as  he  would  not  be  left  behind. 

"  Why,  whit 's  the  crazy  man  about  ? "  cried  the  excited 
duchess.  "  Do  look  at  him  !  " 

Charlotte  looked  with  amazement.  Negative  number  two, 
springing  upon  negative  number  one,  had  dexterously  thrust  the 
fork -handle  between  his  feet,  in  a  manner  to  trip  and  send  him 
headlong  to  the  ground.  Then,  instantly,  the  implement  turning 
in  the  air,  the  two  broad  tines  lighted  astride  the  neck  of  the 
fallen  man,  as  he  attempted  to  rise,  and  pinned  him  to  the  "wharf. 
He  struggled  and  cried  out ;  but  the  warrior  for  the  truth  thrust 
valorously ;  and,  with  face  in  the  sand,  eyes  starting  from  their 
sockets,  knees  and  elbows  braced  desperately,  and  one  hand 
grasping  the  fork  with  a  furious  endeavor  to  unfix  its  yoke-like 
embrace,  Robert  bore  not  a  slight  resemblance,  perhaps,  to  a 


192  TWO    NEGATIVES. 


writhing  and  twisting  reptile,  of  the  species  to  which  he  was 
supposed  to  belong. 

"  Victory !  "  shouted  negative  number  two,  "  at  the  sign  of  St. 
George  and  the  dragon  !  " 

"  All  aboard  !  "  cried  a  voice  of  command.     "  Cast  off  there !  " 

The  plank  was  secured,  the  cables  plashed  in  the  water,  the 
buzz  of  the  steam  ceased,  the  engineer's  bell  tinkled,  the  rushing 
wheels  revolved. 

Bystanders,  meanwhile,  ran  to  Robert's  rescue.  The  over- 
thrower  was  overthrown;  the  fork  fell  from  his  grasp ;  the  ragged 
urchin  seized  it ;  and  while  negative  number  one,  rising  impetu- 
ous, sprang  to  catch  the  boat,  negative  number  two  took  dis- 
creetly to  his  heels,  and  fled  with  light  and  airy  bounds  up  the 
street. 

Shouting,  furious,  swinging  his  bruised  and  muddied  hat,  Robert 
flew  to  the  edge  of  the  wharf.  The  steamer  was  jus-t  beyond  ;  but 
a  boiling  chasm  whirled  between.  He  dared  not  leap  ;  he  stood, 
a  picture  of  baifled  rage,  his  fiery  eye  glaring  upon  Char- 
lotte, from  the  landing.  Just  then  the  sun  broke  through  a 
cloud,  and  poured  a  flood  of  golden  light  upon  the  scene.  The 
foam  sparkled,  the  waves  danced,  the  shore  receded,  and  the  ves- 
sel's prow  dashed  gayly  through  the  glittering  waters  of  Lake 
Champlain. 


XXI. 

BTM  S    DISCOVERIES. 

"  COME,  Phoebe,"  said  Mrs.  Jackwood,  "  empty  the  water  oul 
of  the  p'taters ;  your  father 's  come,  and  he  '11  want  his  dinner. 
How  absent-minded  you  be  !  " 

Phoebe  stood  looking  vacantly  out  of  the  window,  towards  the 
village. 

"  I  'd  like  to  know  whether  I  'm  lazy,  or  what 's  the  matter  with 
me!  Ever  since  Charlotte  went,  I  can't  do  anything, —  not  evei: 
pare  apples." 

"  It 's  a  little  more  Robert  Greenwich  than  Charlotte,  I  guess ! " 

"  I  don't  care  —  he  's  treated  me  real  mean  !  He  hasn't  been 
near  the  house  since  Charlotte  went ;  and  I  bet  he 's  followed  her, 
wherever  she  's  gone  !  " 

"  Let  Robert  Greenwich  go,  and  'tend  to  what  you  're  doin' !  " 

Phoebe  was  on  the  point  of  pouring  the  potato-water  into  the 
churn. 

"  What  on  arth  has  got  into  the  child?  "  cried  Mr.  Jackwood. 
scraping  his  feet  at  the  door. 

"  I  don't  know ;  she  does  everything  wrong-eend  foremost.  Jest 
now,  she  come  within  an  inch  of  emptyin'  the  cream-pot  into  the 
swill-tub !  If  I  had  n't  screamed,  't  would  a'  gone,  sure  as  the 
world  !  Put  on  that  churn-cover,  now,  'fore  you  forgit  it !  You 
took  it,  and  what  you  done  with  't,  I  don't  know." 

"  I  'm  sure  I  don't,"  replied  Phoebe,  thoughtfully,  holding  the 
potato-kettle.  "  I  remember  putting  something  on  the  pump,  and 
tt  must  be  that." 

"  There  's  nothing  here  but  the  butcher-knife,"  said  Mr.  Jack- 
wood,  from  the  pump-room. 
17 


194  BIM'S   DISCOVERIES. 


"  Do  tell  if  that 's  there  !  and  here  I  've  been  huntin'  for  't 
thu  quarter  of  an  hour  !  I  never  see !  Be  you  crazy,  child  ?  " 

Phoebe,  chagrined  :  "  I  don't  know  but  I  be  !  for,  here,  I  've 
oeen  emptying  potatoes  and  all  into  the  sink !  —  What 's  that 
Rover 's  got  to  play  with  ?  " 

Mr.  Jackwood  :  "  I  warrant,  if  Rover  's  in  the  question,  your 
eyes  '11  be  sharp  enough  !  I  declare,  ^—  what  is  it,  mother  ?  Et  'a 
suthin'  't  must  a'  got  lost  off  the  line  last  washin'-day  !  Strange, 
folks  can  be  so  careless !  Here,  you  pesky  pup  !  " 

"  That 's  nothin'  from  the  line,"  retorted  Mrs.  Jackwood  ;  "  we 
an't  so  careless  as  all  that  comes  to.  It 's  some  of  Phoebe's  work, 
if  anybody's." 

"  Everything  will  be  laid  to  Pkcebe  now,  I  suppose  !  Well,  I 
can  stand  it !  —  Why  don't  you  git  it  away,  father  ?  " 

The  dog  having  paid  no  attention  to  his  first  summons,  Mr. 
Jackwood  made  an  onset  upon  him  with  a  short  switch.  But 
Rover,  if  he  did  not  actually  think  it  was  a  sham-fight,  meant  to 
make  it  one,  and  began  to  whisk  and  caper  about  the  yard  ;  some- 
times stopping  to  shako  the  garment  playfully,  or  lying  upon  it 
with  his  paws,  and  growling  valorously,  until  Mr.  Jackwood  came 
within  reach ;  then,  seizing  it  in  his  teeth,  darting  away  just  in 
time  to  avoid  a  capture. 

"  I  declare  !  "  cried  Phoebe,  "  it  looks  like  Charlotte's  white 
cape !  " 

"  Can't  be  !  "  said  Mr.  Jackwood,  "  for  Charlotte  's  miles  away." 

"  May  be  she  is,  and  may  be  she  an't! "  replied  Phoobe,  sig- 
nificantly. "  But  that 's  her  cape,  true 's  the  world  !  Now  you 
can  get  it !  " 

Rover  had  dropped  the  article  beside  the  path,  and  gone  to  roll 
himself  in  the  dust,  as  if  nothing  had  happened.  But  this  was 
only  a  ruse ;  and  as  Mr.  Jackwood  approached,  he  snuffed,  shook 
the  dirt  from  his  ears,  and  lay,  with  his  nose  upon  the  ground, 
ready  for  a  spring.  Mr.  Jackwood  frowned  ;  Rover  winked  arid 
looked  knowing. 

•'  Rover  !  behave  !  " 

"  G-r-r-r-r-r-r  !  "  said  Rover. 

Mr.  Jackwood  measured  his  distance,  and  rushed  suddenly  upon 


BIM'S  DISCOVERIES.  195 


ithe  disputed  property.  But  Rover,  at  a  pounce,  was  there  before 
him.  He  caught  the  cape,  in  his  teeth  ;  as  it  happened,  however, 
somebody's  foot  was  on  one  corner  of  it ;  and  the  next  moment 
somebody's  hand  clutched  the  loose  hide  about  his  neck.  Rover 
pleaded ;  Rover  whined  ;  but  the  hand  held  fast. 

"  Come  here,  sir !  "  said  Mr.  Jackwood.  "  If  you  can't  tell 
when  folks  are  in  arnest,  an'  when  they  're  in  play,  I  '11  larn  ye, 
so  's  't  you  '11  know,  in  futur' !  " 

"  I  '11  try  !  I  '11  try  !  I  '11  try  !  "  yelped  Rover,  plainly  as 
talking. 

"  It 's  Bim  's  to  blame  !  "  interposed  Phoebe.  "  He  's  always 
fooling  with  him  !  " 

Mr.  Jackwood  appeared  to  consider  that  Phoebe  was  not  far 
from  right ;  and,  having  bestowed  a  few  light  cuts  across  Rover's 
back,  dismissed  him,  with  a  grave  admonition.  The  dog  ran  off, 
rubbing  his  left  ear  with  his  paw,  and  lay  down,  dejectedly,  under 
the  wagon. 

Meanwhile  Phoebe  had  possessed  herself  of  the  garment,  and 
taken  it  to  the  house.  Had  it  been  a  common  article  of  apparel, 
it  would  have  attracted  very  little  attention ;  but  it  was  a  light 
and  graceful  cape  of  Charlotte's  own  manufacture,  and  the  fair 
figures  her  needle  had  wrought,  together  with  its  original  delicate 
white  color,  rendered  its  recent  cuts  and  stains  all  the  more  strik- 
ing by  contrast.  What  surprised  the  family  most  was  the  dis- 
covery that  some  of  the  stains  were  of  blood. 

"Le'  me  see  it!  "  said  Mr.  Jackwood,  taking  the  article  in  his 
hand,  for  the  twentieth  time.  "  Suthin'  here  !  "  with  a  profound 
expression.  "  Mother,  look  an'  see  if  that  wan't  cut  with  a 
knife  f  " 

Mother  looked ;  Phoebe  looked ;  and  Mr.  Jackwood  looked 
again. 

"  What  do  you  think,  father  ?  "  asked  the  excited  Phoebe. 

"  The  dog  never  tore  that  in  this  world  !  It  "s  been  cut ;  an' 
this  blood  on  't  an't  four-'n-twenty  hours  old,  or  I  miss  my 
guess  !  Where  in  the  world  could  the  dog  git  holt  on 't  ?  Where 's 
Bim'lech  ?  Does  anybody  know  ?  " 

"0,  I'm  real  frightened!"    stammered    Phoebe.     "I  —  I'm 


196  BIM'S  DISCOVERIES. 


afraid  I  've  been  to  blame,  some  way.  But  —  I  'm  sure  —  1 
did  11 't  think  I  was  doing  any  wrong." 

"  What  do  you  mean  ?     What  have  you  done  ?  " 

"  I  told  Robert  when  Charlotte  was  going  away,  —  I  don't 
know  what  I  did  it  for,  —  but  he  made  me  think  —  " 

Mr.  Jackwood :  "  He  made  ye  think  the  moon  was  made  o' 
green  cheese,  if  he  tried  to,  I  've  no  doubt !  Did  n't  I  tell  ye 
Cha'lotte  wanted  it  kep'  from  everybody?  —  But  what  has  that  to 
do  with  the  cape  ?  " 

"  If  anything  has  happened  to  her,  it 's  all  owing  to  me  !  "  said 
the  remorseful  Phoebe.  "  She  was  afraid  of  him,  an'  one  day  they 
had  a  dreadful  quarrel  down  by  the  crick.  He  said  't  was  because 
she  was  jealous  of  me." 

MrSi  Jackwood  :  "Jealous  of  yo«  !  That 's  an  idee !  For  my 
part,  I  never  imagined  Robert  cared  a  snap  of  his  finger  for 
you ! " 

"  Where  's  Bim'lech,  I  wonder  ?  "  said  Mr.  Jackwood.  "  That 
boy  never 's  in  sight  when  he 's  wanted  !  " 

"  What  boy  never  's  in  sight  when  he  's  wanted  ? "  cried  a 
blustering  voice  at  the  door. 

Phcebe  :  "  Here  he  is  !  " 

Abimelech,  stoutly  :  "  Yes,  here  he  is  !  An'  he  M  like  to  find 
out  who  's  ben  lickin'  Rove'  ?  " 

Mr.  Jackwood  :  "  S'posin'  I  have  ?     What  then  ?  " 

"  Wai !  "  —  began  the  younger  Jackwood,  with  a  belligerent 
shake  of  the  head. 

"Wai,  what?" 

"  I  'd  —  like  to  know  what  he  'd  ben  doin',  —  that 's  all !  " 

"  He  was  tearin'  this  'ere  cape ;  an'  what  I  want  of  you  is,  to 
tell  how  he  come  by  it." 

Bim  looked  ignorant :  "  What  cape?  " 

"  Charlotte's  cape,"  cried  Phoebe.  "  It 's  been  cut,  and  tore, 
and  there  's  blood  on  it !  Where  did  you  find  it  ?  " 

"  Jes'  if  I  found  it !     What  you  talkin'  'bout  ?  " 

Mr.  Jackwood,  sternly  :  "  Look  a'  here,  Bim'lech  !  " 

"  An't  I  lookin'  hard  's  I  can  ?  " 

"  Don't  speak  so  !     I  '11  have  that  dog  killed,  if  you  're   goin 


BIM'S  DISCOVERIES.  197 


to  be  so  pudgicky  when  he  's  whipped  for  gitt'ri'  into  mischief; 
mind,  I  toll  ye !  NOAT,  speak  the  truth,  and  tell  us  what  you  know 
about  this  'ere  cape  !  " 

Bim  :  "  What  should  I  ki.ow  about  it?" 

Phoebe  :  "  He  does  know  !     I  can  tell." 

Bim  :  "  You  can  tell,  a  sight !  Rove  found  it  down  in  the 
meadow." 

Mr.  Jackwood  :  "  Bim'lech,  'tend  to  me !  Tell  me  how  it  come 
•ut?" 

"  Rove  tore  it ;  I  was  goin'  to  lick  him  for  't,  if  I  could  ketched 
him." 

"  But  that  was  done  with  a  knife  !  " 

"  'T  was  jes'  so  when  I  found  it,  —  perty  nigh." 

Phoebe  :  "  You  said  Hove  found  it !  "  ' 

«  \Val}  —  what  if  I  did  ?  Wan't  Hove  an'  me  together  ?  And 
aa't  Hove  my  dog  ?  —  say  !  " 

"  That  '11  do,  Phoebe  !  Bim'lech,  do  you  know  anything  about 
this  blood  ?  " 

Bim,  interested:  "What  blood?  0!  that!  You  make  a 
great  fuss  about  an  old  rag,  I  should  think  !  An't  we  goin'  to 
have  no  dinner  to-day  ?  Where  's  the  wash-basin  ?  " 

"  Bim'leeh,"  said  Mrs.  Jackwood,  "  come  here  ! " 

Bim,  scowling  :  "  What  ye  want  ?  " 

Mrs.  Jackwood  held  the  young  gentleman  by  the  collar,  and, 
wetting  the  corner  of  her  handkerchief  with  her  tongue,  rubbed  it 
on  his  check. 

"  Come  !  "  exclaimed  Bim,  jerking  away ;  "  what 's  that  for  ?  " 

"  Hold  still !  what 's  on  your  face  ?  " 

lil  dV  know!  what? — 0,  Pheeb  !  you  can't  guess  what  I 
got !  "  and  Bim  pulled  something  from  his  pocket. 

"  A  letter  !     Where  did  you  git  it  ?  " 

Bim,  triumphantly  :  "  I  found  it  with  the  cape  !  " 

Phoebe  :  "  It 's  Robert  Greenwich's  name  on  the  back  !  And 
there 's  blood  on  the  letter !  Are  you  sure  you  found  them 
together  ?  " 

"  Of  "course  I  be!     Wan't  the  letter  under  the  cape?     And 
did  n't  it  drop  out  when  I  picked  it  up  ?  " 
17* 


198  BIM'S  DISCOVERIES. 


"  I  guess  I  can  tell  somethin'  'bout  the  blood,"  sai'l  Mrs.  Jack- 
wood.  "  Hold  here  agin,  Bim'lech.  —  Han't  you  ben  haviu'  the 
nose-bleed  ?  " 

«  Yes,  —  I  had  the  nose-bleed  a  little  !     What  of  it  ?  " 

"  An'  you  got  blood  on  the  cape  !  " 

"  Mebby  I  got  a  little  on." 

"  Bim'lech  !  "  said  Mr.  Jackwood,  solemnly,  "  step  this  way  ! 
Look  me  in  the  eye !  Now  le's  have  the  truth,  the  hull  truth, 
and  nothiu'  but  the  truth." 

"  Wai,  don't  I  ?  " 

"  I  Wcin't  goin'  to  punish  ye ;  we  only  wanted  to  know  the  truth 
of  the  matter ;  for  we  was  afraid  suthin'  had  happened  to  Char- 
lotte. Now,  was  there,  or  was  there  not,  blood  on  the  cape  when 
you  found  it  ?  " 

Bim,  hesitating :  "  The  rain,  or  suthin',  had  spotted  it,  any 
way." 

"  And  you  cut  it  with  your  knife  a  little,  did  n't  ye  ?  "  in  a 
coaxing  tone. 

Bim,  doubtfully  :  "  Le'  me  think  !  Yes,  now  I  remember  !  I 
did  cut  it  a  little  ;  but  't  was  an  old  thing !  " 

Phoebe  :  "  0,  what  stories  !  " 

"  Phoebe !  I  'm  dealin'  with  him  !     What  'd  ye  cut  it  for  ?  n 

"  Wai,"  —  Bim  scratched  his  head,  —  "I  cut  it !  —  't wan't 
good  for  nothin' !  " 

Mr.  Jackwood,  tapping  the  floor  with  his  foot :  "  Answer  my 
question  ! " 

"Id'no, —  I  thought  —  "  Bim  began  to  grin — "'twould 
make  a  good  jacket  for  Rove,  —  like  that  the  little  monkey  had 
on  to  the  caravan." 

"  Boy  !     Then  you  made  these  holes  ?  " 

Bim  looked  foolish  :  "  Wai,  —  I  had  to  make  some  holes  for 
his  legs,  or  it  wouldn't  stay  on  to  him." 

"  That 's  right !  "  said  Mr.  Jackwood,  approvingly  ;  "  always 
tell  the  truth,  my  son  ;  for  liars  never  prosper." 

Phoebe  :  "  I  should  n't  think  he  'd  prosper,  then  !  " 

"  'Sh  !  never  mind  !  he  's  done  perty  well.  —  How  did  you  git 
the  rose-bleed,  my  son  ?  " 


BIM'S  DISCOVERIES.  199 


"  lie  did  n't  like  the  jacket ;  an'  when  I  held  him  to  put  his 
legs  in  the  holes,  he  jumped,  an'  kicked,  — till  by  V  by  he  hit  my 
nose  the  awfullest  tunk  with  the  back  of  his  head  !  I  hung  on, 
though,  till  I  see  the  blood  runnin' ;  then  he  cut  for  the  house, 
with  the  cape  hangin'  I  y  his  neck  an'  one  leg." 

"  Why  could  n't  je  a'  told  this  in  the  fust  place?  " 

Bim,  giggling  :  "  'Cause  you  was  all  makin'  sich  a  fuss  about 
the  ol'  rag,  an'  I  did  n't  know  how  hard  I  'd  have  to  take  it !  I 
meant  to  tell,  all  the  time;  but  I  thought  't  would  n't  do  no  hurt 
to  let  on  a  little  to  once." 

"That  don't  explain  how  the  cape  come  in  the  meader,  arter 
all.  '  And  Green'ich's  letter  with  it,  too !  —  I  don't  s'pose  't  '11  do 
no  harm  to  open  it,  sence  the  wafer 's  broke,  an'  find  out  who 
wrote  it.  —  What  name  's  that  'ere,  Phoebe  ?  Your  eyes  are  bet- 
ter 'n  mine." 

"Why,  it 's  Hector  Dunbury's  !  " 

"  Hector  Dunb'ry's,  hey  ?  Wai,  I  guess  we  '11  set  up  to  the 
table,  now ;  -and  arter  dinner,  Bim'lech,  you  can  go  V  carry  the 
letter  over  to  Mr.  Duub'ry's  folks.  If  it 's  from  Hector,  they  've 
a  better  right  to  it  than  we  have.  Don't  be  readin'  it,  Phoebe !  " 

Phoabe  :  "  I  an't,  —  but,  —  how  strange  !  Hector 's  gone  to 
Californy  ! " 

Mr.  Jacktv  ..*d:  "  Here,  here!  you  shan't  read  it!  Give  it  to 
me.  Can't  be  he 's  gone  to  Californy !  His  folks  'u'd  know 
suthin'  'bout  it,  if  -\o  had." 

Pho3be :  "Just  let  me  make  out  this  sentence.  It 's  something 
about  Charlotte." 

Mrs.  Jackwood :  "  Come,  Bim'lech,  take  off  your  cap,  an'  wash 
your  face,  if  you  're  goin'  to  Mr.  Dunbury's.  Don't  throw  your 
cap  !  I  declare  for  't ! :) 

Bim,  flinging  his  cap  at  the  sink-shelf,  had  missed  his  aim,  and 
sent  it  plump  into  the  churn.  A  tumult  ensued,  as  Mrs.  Jack- 
wood,  in  great  trepidation,  fished  it  out,  and  hastened  to  hold  it, 
with  the  dripping  cream,  over  a  milk-pan. 

Bim,  with  bravado  :  "  You  might  keep  the  churn  covered  up !  " 

Mrs.  Jackwood  :  "  How  many  times  did  I  tell  you,  Phoebe  !  — 
It  '.s  well  for  both  of  ye  't  I  've  got  my  hands  full !  " 


200  BIM'S  DISCOVERIES. 


"  I  don't  know  what  I  did  with  the  cover,"  sajd  Phoebe,  still 
clinging  to  the  letter. 

"  Corne,  come !  "  exclaimed  Mr.  Jackwood.  "  Have  I  got  to 
take  it  away  from  you  by  main  force  ?  " 

Phoebe,  relinquishing  her  hold  :  "  I  don't  think  Hector  speaks 
very  well  of  Charlotte,  anyhow !  That 's  the  way  with  men, 
though ;  and  I  suppose  Robert  will  write  to  him  the  same  about 
me ! " 

Mrs.  Jackwood :  "  Father,  do  set  that  child  to  doin'  suthiti' ! 
If  you  can't  think  of  anything  else,  take  the  pie  out  of  the  oven. 
Then  hunt  for  that  churn-cover  till  you  find  it." 

Phcebe  opened  the  oven-door.  There  was  no  pie  there ;  but  ii 
its  place  she  found  the  missing  churn-cover,  baked  brown,  and  so 
hot  that  she  dropped  it  on  the  floor  with  a  scream. 


XXII. 

TWO   SKELETONS   IN   ONE   HOUSE. 

AN  old  gentleman,  in  a  loose  suit  of  drab,  with  a  white  cravat, 
a  whit£  whisker,  and  a  thin  fleece  of  white  hair  frizzled  all  over 
his  head,  took  off  his  hat  (a  white  one)  to  the  clerk  of  a  second- 
class  hotel,  in  Montreal. 

"  I  wish  to  see  a  —  a  Miss — a  Miss  —  "  The  white  gentle- 
man hesitated,  and  fumbled  in  his  breast-pocket.  "  I  've  forgotten 
the  name,  and  left  the  letter  at  home.  I  '11  glance  at  your  books, 
if  you  please." 

"  Presently,"  said  the  clerk  ;  "  as  soon  as  this  gentleman  is  done 
with  them." 

The  gentleman  deferred  to  was  a  gay  young  fellow,  with  a  mous- 
tache ;  precisely  such  a  moustache,  by  the  way,  as  Phoebe  Jack- 
wood  so  much  admired,  and  pitied  to  behold  once  more,  on  Hun- 
tcrsford  Creek.  The  wearer  looked  up,  with  a  questioning  air,  at 
the  clerk. 

"  Mr.  Sperkley's  party  arrived  here  the  twelfth  ?  " 

"  Ay,"  said  the  clerk,  "  night  before  last." 

"Is  Mr.  Sperkley  in?" 

"  Mr.  Sperkley  is  out,  this  morning  ?  " 

"Thank  you;  I  will  call  again,"  —  and  the  moustache  retired. 

"Sperkley,  —  Sperkley,"  repeated  the  white  gentleman,  refer- 
ring to  the  register.  "  That  is  the  name  I  was  to  inquire  for,  I 
think.  'Mr.  Sperkley,  lady,  and  friend,'1  —  and  it's  the  friend  I 
desire  to  see.  Is  she  in  ?  " 

"  A  young  lady;  ay, —  I  think  so.    Shall  I  send  up  your  name? " 

The  white  gentleman's  card  being  despatched  to  Mrs.  Sperkley's 
apartment,  answer  was  promptly  returned  that  the  ladies  would 


202  TV/0   SKELETONS  Hi    OlxE   HOUSE. 


moot  him  in  the  public  parlor.  He  hud  not  long  to  wait. 
had  he  taken  his  seat,  when  a  bustling,  chubby  little  WOIL.»*I  en* 
tered,  bright  and  smiling  as  the  sun,  and  breathless  with  running 
down  stairs.  She  was  dreased  in  stiff,  rustling  silks,  and  ^\o:e 
heavy  jewels  in  her  ears  and  on  her  fingers ;  gold-bowed  spectacles 
on  her  nose,  a  massive  chain  of  gold  about  her  neck,  and  a  watch 
and  pencil  in  her  belt. 

"  How  do  you  do  1 "  she  cried,  with  a  hearty  demonstration  of 
friendship.  "  Have  you  seen  my  husband  1 " 

"  Your  husband  1  —  Is  this  Mrs.  Sperkley  1 " 

"  Yes,  this  is  Mrs.  Sperkley,"  —  with  an  air  which  seemed  to 
say,  don't  you  think  it's  a  pretty  nice  Mrs.  Sperkley,  after  all? — 
"  And  you  are  Mr.  Holyland  ?  " 

"  Longman  was  the  name  on  my  card." 

"Longman?  Dear  me!  how  could  I  make  that  mistake,  and 
read  it  Holyland  ?  " 

"  I  wish  to  see  a  young  lady  who  is,  I  think,  in  your  company." 

"  0,  the  person  we  got  acquainted  with  aboard  the  boat !  She 
has  been  expecting  some  one  to  call.  I  '11  run  and  speak  to  her." 

She  rushed,  rustling,  from  the  parlor.  The  white  gentleman 
looked  dissatisfied,  and  walked  the  room  as  if  he  was  more  than 
half  inclined  to  walk  out  of  it,  and  out  of  the  hotel,  and  out  of  the 
society  of  Mr.  Sperkley,  lady,  and  friend,  forever.  His  expression 
brightened,  however,  when  the  door  again  opened. 

"  Miss  Woods  —  "  Charlotte  smiled  assent,  and  he  gave  her 
his  band.  "  I  received  your  note  accompanying  Mrs.  Dunbury's 
letter  last  night,  but  at  too  late  an  hour  —  " 

"  Do  not  apologize,"  said  Charlotte,  embarrassed.  "  You  are 
but  too  kind  to  come  to  me  at  all.  On  Mrs.  Dunbury's  recom 
mendation,  I  ventured  to  apply  to  you,  —r  I  am  here,  a  stranger. 
. —  and  what  I  desire  is,  to  find  some  situation  —  " 

"  Leave  that  to  the  future,"  replied  the  white  gentleman 
«  How  are  you  situated  here  at  the  hotel  ?  " 

"  Comfortably  as  could  be  expected,  I  suppose." 

"  And  your  friends?" 

"  Friends? —  I  have  none." 

"I  mean,  the  Sperkley  family." 


TWO    SKELETONS   IN    ONE    HOUSE.  203 


"  0 !  "  said  Charlotte,  with  a  smile,  "  I  may,  perhaps,  call 
them  friends,  for  they  have  been  kind,  and  helped  me  through 
difficulties  in  travelling  that  I  could  hardly  have  surmounted 
alone.  But  they  are  mere  chance  acquaintances." 

"So  much  the  better  !  Now,  I  '11  tell  you  what ;  without  any 
ceremony,  and  with  as  little  delay  as  possible,  you  shall  leave 
this  house,  and  go  home  with  me.  So  much  accomplished,  we  '11 
see  what  else  can  be  done.  One  thing  at  a  time,  is  my  motto." 

It  had  been  so  far  from  Charlotte's  expectation  or  design  to 
intrude  upon  anybody's  hospitality,  that  the  offer  appeared  all  the 
richer  and  more  welcome  to  her  homelessness.  With  a  full  heart 
she  accepted  it.  This  settled,  the  white  gentleman,  having  a  small 
business  matter  to  attend  to  in  the  same  street,  took  leave,  but 
returned  promptly,  in  half  an  hour,  as  he  had  promised.  Char- 
lotte was  ready  for  a  departure,  and  had  nothing  to  do  but  ex- 
change "  good-bys  "  with  Mrs.  Sperkley. 

"  Our  acquaintance  has  been  very  pleasant,"  said  the  duchess, 
making  an  affecting  demonstration  with  her  handkerchief.  "  I  am 
very  sorry  to  lose  you  so  soon ;  and,  re'ly,  I  shall  have  a  good 
cry  over  it,  when  you  are  gone !  " 

The  little  woman  exhibited  something  of  the  genuine  ore  of 
human  feeling,  as  well  as  a» good  deal  of  the  dross;  and  Char- 
lotte, in  whom  the  faintest  show  of  kindly  sympathy  on  the  part 
of  others  never  failed  to  awaken  grateful  emotions,  returned  her 
boisterous  kiss  with  a  quiet  touch  of  her  pui'e  lips,  accompanied 
with  an  earnest  inward  prayer  for  her  happiness.  At  parting, 
the  duchess  wished  her  to  accept  a  gold  ring,  which  she  drew 
from  her  linger,  as  a  memento  ;  but  Charlotte  with  gentle  dignity 
declined  it,  and  it  went  back  to  its  place  on  the  chubby  red  hand. 

A  few  minutes'  ride  brought  Charlotte  and  her  companion  to  a 
plain,  sober  little  house,  pleasantly  located,  in  the  upper  p:irt  of 
of  the  town.  This  prove  1  the  residence  of  the  white  gentleman  ; 
and  here,  disembarking  with  her  baggage,  she  was  >•-  Moomcd  tc 
her  new  home  by  one  of  <!ie  sunniest  faces  she  had  ever  met. 

"  My  daughter,  Mrs.  Lrnvrrnce  Longman,"  said  the  white  gen- 
tleman. 

She  was  not  beautiful  :  she  was  pale  and  faded  :  but  there  wa* 


204  TWO    SKELETONS   IN    ONE   110 LSI 


something  exceedingly  tender  in  her  expression,  which  drew  CLar- 
lotte  to  her  at  once. 

"  I  was  sure  father  would  bring  you  home  with  him,"  said  Mrs. 
Lawrence.  "  Your  room  is  all  ready  for  you." 

It  was  a  cosey  little  chamber,  the  windows  of  which  looked  out 
upon  a  garden  and  a  country  road.  On  entering  it,  Charlotte  was 
thrilled  with  happiness  and  surprise.  She  glanced  around  her; 
she  gazed  from  the  window ;  she  turned  her  suffused  eyes  upon  the 
smiling,  tender  face  of  the  gentle  woman  who  had  given  her  so 
rich  a  welcome.  She  attempted  to  speak  ;  she  put  out  her  hand, 
but  a  flood  of  tears  overtook  her. 

"  You  see  what  a  foolish  creature  I  am  ! "  said  she,  with  a 
smile  of  living  love  brightening  through  her  tears.  "  But  I  can- 
not help  it!  such  good  things  happening  to  me,  when  I  deserve 
them  so  little  ! " 

The  gentle  woman  whispered  a  word  of  cheer,  and  glided  from 
the  room.  It  was  an  hour  of  deep  and  holy  emotion  to  Charlotte. 
Her  gratitude  to  God,  and  to  the  friends  he  had  given  her,  arose 
to  rapture ;  feeling,  as  she  did,  that  her  feet  were  now  led  into 
Sweet  pastures  for  a  season,  and  that  here  she  might  lie  down  and 
rest  by  the  cool  waters. 

When  next  she  met  Mrs.  Longman,  her  appearance  had  under- 
gone a  surprising  change.  She  was  attired  with  a  simplicity 
amounting  almost  to  homeliness ;  but  the  charm  of  her  figure,  and 
the  spirit  of  beauty  and  grace  that  breathed  about  her,  amply 
compensated  for  the  lack  of  external  adornments.  She  hud 
dressed  her  hair  carefully,  however ;  and  to  that,  perhaps,  she 
owed  no  small  part  of  her  personal  attractions.  In  the  luxuriaiit 
arrangement  of  its  rich,  soft  masses,  she  had  displayed  all  the 
natural  exultation  and  exuberance  of  her  spirits.  JSTo  jewel  on 
her  head  or  about  her  person,  save  a  simple  golden  crous  upon  her 
neck.  It  was  a  trifle  Hector  had  given  her,  —  the  only  gift  of 
his  she  had  consented  to  retain,  —  and  this  was  the  first  occa- 
sion on  which  she  had  worn  it,  since  tlicy  parted.  Her  counte- 
nance was  tranquil  and  happy,  yet  there  was  a  softening  sadness 
in  it  still,  which  rendered  it  all  the  more  winning.  Her  eyes  were 


TWO   SKELETONS   IN    ONE   HOUSE.  205 


wonderfully  bright  and  melting.  Mrs.  Longman  regarded  her  with 
quiet  admiration. 

"  And  how  did  you  leave  Mrs.  Dunbury  ?  "  that  lady  asked. 
"  I  am  sorry  Hector  has  gone  again.  He  appears  to  have  a  rov- 
ing disposition.  Is  his  mind  as  changeable  as  his  habits  ?  I  ana 
not  much  acquainted  with  him  ;  I  never  saw  him  but  twice,  arid 
that  was  years  ago.  He  was  then  a  handsome,  high-spirited  boy, 
—  adventurous,  but  very  fond  of  his  mother." 

Poor  Charlotte  managed  to  say, — 

"  lie  is  your  cousin  ?  " 

"  A  sort  of  secou  1  cousin,  —  and  that  only  by  marriage.  Mr. 
Longman  is  Mrs.  Dunbury's  uncle ;  and  I  am  Mr.  Longman's 
daughter-in-law.  I  wish  I  knew  the  family  better.  Ah,  Mrs. 
Dunbury  says  such  blessed  things  of  you  in  her  letters  !  " 

"  Her  letters  !  "  said  Charlotte. 

"  You  did  not  kno\y,  then,  that  we  received  one  from  her  by 
mail  only  a  few  hours  before  the  one  you  brought  arrived  ?  In- 
deed, how  should  you  know  ?  Perhaps  it  would  have  been  as  well 
not  to  mention  it ;  but  it  appears  she  could  not  express  herself 
sufficiently  in  the  note  she  had  sent  by  you ;  so  she  afterwards, 
on  her  sick  bed,  took  occasion  to  tell  us  more  about  you." 

"  She  is  too  kind  ;  you  must  not  believe  half  she  says." 

"  One  half  will  be  enough  !  But,  come,  I  want  my  mother  to 
pee  you.  She  is  aged,  and  a  little  capricious;  she  has  grown  quite 
impatient  about  you." 

The  mother  —  or  rather  the  mother-in-law  —  was  an  emaciated 
old  lady,  with  an  ear-trumpet,  a  fniuiF-box,  and  an  extremely  feeble, 
sir.all  voice.  She  proved  to  be  very  deaf,  and  very  peevish.  She 
made  Chariotte  sit  up  close  to  her  chair,  and,  giving  her  the  mouth- 
piece of.  the  trumpet,  while  she  held  the  other  extremity  of  the 
tube  to  her  ear,  conversed  with  her  from  the  depths  of  the  pillows 
in  whi.ih  her  attenuated  frame  was  almost  hidden  from  view. 

Charlotte  had  been  nearly  a  week  with  her  new  friends,  when, 
one  day,  as  she  was  keeping  the  old  lady  company,  she  was  aroused 
by  an  occurrence  in  the  adjoining  room.     The  door  was  unclosed  • 
and  she  heard  Mrs.  Longman  exclaim, 
IS 


206  TWO    SKELETONS   IN    ONE   HOUSE. 


"  Edward,  where  did  you  come  from  ?  " 

"  From  Paradise,  by  the  back  door,"  replied  a  voice  which 
made  Charlotte  start,  and  strain  her  ear  to  catch  the  faintest 
intonation.  "  Do  you  know  what  that  means  ?  It  means  quibble- 
quabblo.  The  world  is  all  a  fleeting  show.  Give  me  a  glass  of 
water." 

"  Sit  down,  Edward,"  said  the  widow,  kindly.  "  Will  you  tako 
some  wine  ?  You  look  weary." 

"  I  have  been  in  the  wilderness,  tempted  of  the  devil.  I  would 
not  care,  if  I  had  not  torn  my  trousers.  When  this  old  hat  UMS 
new,  —  sing  me  that  hymn;  I  think  it  is  something  melancholy, 
tending  to  reflection.  And  I  was  young  and  gay,  -  -  we  are  older 
now,  Sal  !  And  wiser  ;  did  you  know  it  ?  " 

"  And  wiser,"  repeated  Mrs.  Longman. 

"  I  like  you,  Sal  !  "  said  Edward,  affectionately.  "  But  thero 
is  a  deal  of  milk-and-water  in  your  composition." 

"  Drink  the  wine,  Edward." 

"  The  milk  of  human  kindness,  and  the  water  that  delights 
thirsty  souls  !  That 's  better  than  wine.  Good  Sal !  you  are 
one  in  ten  thousand.  I  would  kiss  you,  but  for  my  oath."  The 
speaker's  eye  glittered,  and  his  voice  sank  to  a  whisper.  "  I  stood 
on  the  shore,  and  saw  the  ship,  rich-freighted  with  my  happiness, 
sail  out  of  sight  in  the  distance.  The  Princess  of  Sheba's  ship, — 
did  I  tell  you  ?  " 

EJward  seated  himself  in  an  attitude  of  deep  thoughtful  ness, 
holding  his  dilapidated  hat  in  one  hand,  and  the  glass  in  the  other. 
His  long,  flaxen  beard  streamed  down  and  touched  the  wine,  as  he 
bent  forward,  resting  his  elbow  on  his  knee.  The  widow  stood 
by,  sad  and  patient,  waiting  for  him  to  drink. 

"Prophecy  is  a  fearful  gift."  He  raised  his  head,  and  shook 
the  wine-drops  from  his  beard.  "  She  shall  reign  ;  but  one  Is  to 
be  sacrificed.  Broken  ice  and  water."  He  seemed  to  be  gazing 
at  some  picture,  far  away,  and  his  finger  waved  softly  in  the  air. 
"The  river  that  flows  through  Sheba  ;  'tis  perilous  crossing! 
Sal!"  —  starting  with  exultation,  —  "they've  shown  me  my 
epitaph  !  'T  is  to  be  written  in  fire,  on  a  monument  high  as  the 
ruoon  !  " 


TWO   SKELETONS   IN   ONE   HOUSE.  207 


The  widow  came  softly,  and  closed  the  door. 
"  What  is  there  ? "  cried  the  old  lady,  agitating  her  pillows. 
'Tell  me  ;  no  secrecy  !     Why  is  the  door  closed  ?     Quick  !  " 

And  the  feeble  hand  extended  the  mouth-piece,  with  an  impa- 
tient jesture.  Charlotte  replied,  through  the  tube,  that  some  per- 
son was  talking  with  Sarah. 

"  Who  ?  Don't  keep  me  in  suspense  !  I  shall  die  !  0,  dear ! 
why  don't  you  speak  ?  " 

"  I  don't  know  who  it  is." 

"  Don't  know  ?  You  must  know  !  You.  are  deceiving  me  ! 
Sarah  has  no  right  —  " 

"She  calls  his  name  Edward." 

"  Edward  !  is  he  here  ?  Why  don't  he  come  at  once  to  his 
mamma  ?  Why  does  she  keep  him  ?  " 

Charlotte,  rising  :  "  I  will  speak  to  her." 

"  No  !  "  whistled  the  feeble  voice  ;  "  don't  leave  me  !  I  shall 
know  nothing,  if  you  do.  They  take  advantage  of  my  infirmities; 
they  impose  upon  me  in  all  sorts  of  ways.  Poor  Edward  !  he  has 
becn  out  of  his  mind.  0,  it 's  now  five  years  or  more  !  A  disap- 
pointment. That  was  the  beginning  of  it.  So,  he  is  home  again, 
is  he  ?  It  runs  in  the  family,  —  hereditary,  you  know.  Sarah's 
husband,  Lawrence,  —  he  was  my  oldest,  —  committed  suicide.  I 
went- to  the  garret,  one  day,  and  found  him  hanging  from  a  rafter. 
I  never  got  over  the  shock.  It  all  came  of  his  meeting  sm  old 
flame.  They  'd  been  engaged,  I  can't  remember  how  many  years. 
He  had  married  a  new  fancy  ;  and  when  he  saw  the  other  again, 
they  had  a  desperate  time.  It  almost  killed  Sarah.  It  \s  in  the 
Longman  family,  not  in  mine.  Mr.  Longman  had  a  nephew  who 
went  the  same  way.  A  brother  of  M rs.  Dunbury,  you  know  • 
Hector's  uncle.  We  used  to  think  Hector  would  be  like  him, — 
how  is  it  ?  " 

Charlo'te  shuddered ;  the  picture  the  invalid  once  had  drawn 
jf  her  son's  possible  fate  recurring  with  startling  vividness  to 
her  mind.  At  this  juncture,  the  widow  entered  the  room;  and 
Charlotte  gave  a  rapid  account  of  her  meeting  with  Edward,  in 
her  northward  journey. 

"  What  are  you  talking  ?  "  cried  the  old  lady      "  Here  !  "  — 


208  TWO   SKELETONS   IN    ONE    HOUSE. 


giving  Sarah  the  tube,  —  "tell  me  all  about  it.  Don't  emit  a 
word." 

"  Presently,"  said  Sarah.     "  Edward  is  coining." 

Charlotte  glided  out,  by  another  door,  as  he  entered.  At  sight 
of  his  haggard  face  and  tattered  clothes,  the  old  lady  began  to 
weep.  He  regarded  her  compassionately. 

"  The  creature  they  used  to  call  my  mother  !  How  long  has 
she  been  a  weasel  ?  If  she  is  hungry,  give  her  some  mice.  There 
shall  be  no  hunger  in  our  kingdom,  not  even  among  the  insignifi 
cant  races.  And  no  tears  either,  except  liar's  tears  !  "  —  through 
his  teeth  —  "  and  they  shall  weep,  weep,  weep  !  Could  a  princess 
tell  a  lie?" 

"  What  does  he  say  ?  "  squeaked  the  old  lady. 

"  When  sent  for,  I  shall  appear ;  and  so  I  told  her  majesty. 
Ha  !  "  —  his  countenance  lighted  up,  as  he  glanced  from  the 
western  window,  —  "  the  sun  sets  red  ;  there  is  danger  brooding 
for  to-morrow  ! " 

"  Tell  me,  quick  !  Here  !  "  —  the  old  lady  agitated  her  tube, 
—  "  Edward,  speak  to  your  poor  mamma  '  " 

"  I  strode  that  sun  once,  and  rode  him  through  the  heavens  till 
I  bumped  my  head  against  the  darkness!  Sal!" — pointing 
eagerly  at  the  sky, —  "  do  you  mark  the  phantom  horseman  ?  lie 
gallops  through  a  sea  of  Qre  !  " 

"  Kiss  me,  my  boy  !  "  whimpered  the  old  lady. 

"Since  Christmas,  I  have  seen  five,  —  brave  riders  all !  One 
swims  the  wave  on  a  dolphin  ;  that 's  Cupid.  One  scours  through 
the  bowels  of  the  earth  ;  that 's  Avarice.  And  one  careers  on  the 
mountains  ;  that 's  Ambition.  This  one  is  nameless  ;  but  where 
he  rides  men's  wits  arc  troubled." 

Already  a  domeslic  had  been  despatched  for  Mr.  Longman. 
He  was  not  far  from  home ;  he  returned  speedily  ;  and  finding 
his  son  in  so  unusual  a  state,  he  sent  in  hatlc  for  the  family 
physician. 

Sleep,  said  the  doctor,  was  chiefly  necessary  to  restore  Edward's 
mind  and  body  to  their  ordinary  condition.  But  he  could  not  bo 
prevailed  upon  to  take  any  repose. 

'  I  kicked  Morpheus  out  of  bed  nine  days  ago ;  since  thra,  we 


TWO   SKELETONS  IN    ONE   HOUSE.  209 


have  been  strangers.  What  if  her  majesty  sends,  and  finds  ma 
napping  ?  " 

Neither  reason  nor  entreaty  could  influence  him.  He  walked 
the  room  restless,  talking  wildly.  At  length  Sarah  suggested  that 
Charlotte  should  be  invited  to  exert  her  power.  The  others  con- 
sented ;  and  presently  the  "princess"  appeared. 

Was  it  his  imagination  only,  or  something  in  the  magnetism  of 
her  gentle  spirit,  that  wrought  so  wonderful  a  change  in  his  entire 
demeanor  ?  His  countenance  grew  placid  ;  his  movements  less 
sharp  and  abrupt ;  his  eye  less  wild  and  glaring ;  he  became  obe- 
dient and  tractable  as  a  child.  The  same  extreme  sensitiveness'  to 
personal  influences,  that  caused  him  to  start  and  shudder  at  the 
approach  of  impure  spheres,  seemed  also  to  have  revealed  to  him 
some  innate  excellence  in  Charlotte,  to  which  he  owed  allegiance. 
At  her  request,  he  consented  first  to  take  a  warm  bath,  then  to  be 
put  to  bed ;  and,  having  exacted  her  promise  that  she  would  have 
him  waked,  without  fail,  before  the  ship  sailed,  he  closed  his  eyes, 
and  soon  sank  into  a  profound,  perspiring  sleep. 

"  A  visitor  to  see  Miss  Woods,"  said  the  widow,  in  the  forenoon 
of  the  next  day,  showing  her  benign  countenance  in  Charlotte's 
chamber. 

"  Me  !  "  echoed  Charlotte,  turning  pale. 

A  rapid  train  of  thought  passed  through  her  mind.  Robert 
Greenwich,  returning  to  Huntersford,  and  learning  the  address  of 
Mrs.  Dunbury's  relatives  in  Canada,  had  hastened  to  trace  her  to 
her  last  place  of  refuge.  It  was  what  she  had  feared.  But  Mrs. 
Longman  relieved  her  with  the  welcome  intelligence  that  the  vis- 
itor was  a  lady. 

'  O,  Mrs.  Sperkley  !  "  said  Charlotte. 

"  What  a  time  I  have  had  finding  you  !  "  exclaimed  the  little 
woman.      "  It 's  curious,  as  I  said  to  my  husband,  that  I  never 
thought  to  ask  your  address.     I  'd  forgotten  Mr.  Longman's  name, 
too ;  and,  just  think  !  the  very  next  day  after  you  had  gone,  a 
young  gentleman,  who  says  he  has  something  of  great  importance 
for  you,  came  to  inquire  about  you." 
A  young  gentleman  !     Who  ?  " 
18* 


210  TWO    SKELETONS   IN    ONE    HOUSE. 


"  I  declare,  I  can't  speak  his  name  !  Strange,  for  him  and  my 
husband  got  very  intimate,  and  played  billiards  together,  and  L 
don't  know  what  all." 

"  Does  he  wear  a  moustache  ?  " 

"  0,  yes,  a  very  handsome  one  !  " 

"  Is  n't  he  the  same  person  who  was  detained  from  the  steam- 
boat by  the  insane  man  ?  " 

"  0,  yes  !  "  cried  the  duchess  ;  "  and  I  thought  I  had  seen  his 
face  somewhere.  But,  then,  I  should  think  he  'd  have  spoken  of 
it.  The  way  he  found  us  was  queer.  He  could  n't  see  your 
name  on  any  of  the  hotel  books  ;  so,  when  he  saw  our  arrival  reg- 
istered as  Mr.  Sperkley,  lady,  and  friend,  he  thought  you  must  be 
the  friend." 

"  And  —  where  is  he  now  ?  '' 

"  0,"  said  the  duchess,  "  him  and  my  husband  has  gone  down 
to  Quebec  together,  on  some  kind  of  a  speculation.  My  husband 
is  a  great  speculator ;  he  trades  in  watches,  and  di'monds,  and 
all  sorts  of  things.  Well,  wnen  I  was  left  all  alone,  and  did  n't 
know  what  else  to  do  with  my  sol  f,  what  should  I  find  in  my  work- 
box  but  the  very  card  Mr.  Longman  sent  up  to  us  the  day  he  came 
to  the  hotel.  And  what  did  I  do,  but  give  it  to  the  landlord,  and 
tell  him  to  find  out  where  such  a  man  lived.  That  was  easy ;  and 
here  I  am.  I  knew  you  would  be  glad  to  see  me ;  for  I  said  to 
myself,  says  I,  though  may  be  she  won't  care  much  about  me, 
she  '11  be  pleased  to  hear  from  the  young  gentleman.  0,1  re- 
member his  name,  now  !  It's  Sandwich,  or  Wolwich,  or  some- 
thing of  the  kind.  It 's  some  sort  of  a  wich,  any  way.  You  may 
depend  upon  seeing  him  just  as  soon  as  he  gets  back  with  my  hus- 
band. You  know  what  he  has  for  you  a  great  deal  better  than 
I  do." 

"Whatever  it  is,"  said  Charlotte,  with  sparkling  eyes,  "I  do 
not  wish  to  receive  it !  " 

"  You  don't  say  !  "  cried  the  astonished  duchess. 

"  It  was  expressly  to  prevent  his  finding  me  that  I  requested 
your  husband  not  to  register  my  arrival  on  the  books  of  the  hotel. 
And  I  hop  •$,"  added  Charlotte,  almost  weeping  with  vexation, 


TWO    SKELETONS   IN    ONE   HOUSE.  211 


"  that  you  will  not  do  me  so  unwelcome  a  kindness  as  to  send  me 
any  such  friends." 

"  Why,  1  am  sure,  I  can't  understand  that  !  " 

"  No,  I. do  not  expect  you  to.  Do  not  try  to  ;  do  not  think  of 
it  any  more ;  do  not  think  of  me.  I  have  felt  very  grateful  for 
your  kindness  to  me ;  but  I  beg  you  will  not  give  yourself  any 
more  trouble  on  my  account." 

In  a  little  while  the  duchess  took  her  leave.  Charlotte  did 
not  invite  her  to  call  again;  and,  as  she  saw  her  ride  smilingly 
away  in  the  cab,  she  devoutly  hoped  that  the  light  of  that  beam- 
ing face  miijjht  never  shine  upo/.  her  pathway  agaiu. 


XXIII. 

PROSPECTS. 

THUS  Charlotte  had  found  not  only  two  skeletons  in  Mr.  Long- 
man's house,  but  there  was  a  fine  promise  of  another  coming ;  for 
in  truth  she  placed  so  little  confidence  in  Mrs.  Sperkley's  discre- 
tion, that  she  expected  nothing  more  than  to  see  Mr.  Robert 
Gsaenwioh,  immediately  on  his  return  from  Oucboc  with  t.Ke  trav- 
elling \ratch-trader. 

In  the  mean  time,  her  friends  had.suooovUod  ia  .'iivdi-ng  a  poai- 
tioii  for  her  an  a  companion  to  a,  wealtuy  dowager.  The  news 
was  imparted  to  her  immrdiately  after  tho  departure  of  the 
duchess.  It  only  rei.iaimni  tbi  hor  to  seo  the  lady,  and,  if  they 
were  mutually  olcased  with  cwoh  other,  to  •><-.i.ipt  the  situ«atioa-i. 
The  fallowing  <iay  was  dxod  for  the  interview 

Mi's.  De  Rohan  vas  a  pc'-on  of  beo**?oViA  aspect  and  mfld 
ruldross.  Charlotte  entered  hor  present?  with  (tar  aod  treQ)- 
bling,  but  a  smile  reassured  her;  she  \\.a6  ifeU^hted  vrith  the 
thought  ot  a+t  ending  upon  so  kind  a  lady »  a.ud  hc-f  ooiy  afpw- 
heii!s;ou  LOW  was,  that  her  services  might  not  be  accepted. 

"  I  POO  b'.t  one  difficulty  in  the  way,"  observed  the  uivwagu?. 
"  Vo'i  i'ciy  the  more  quiet  and  retired  you.'  life,  the  better.  N.ow, 
1  inicno,  soo  i  to  commence  a  series  of  journeys,  which  will  termi- 
nate jin  tiu4.  good  Old  Country,  in  the  course  of  a  year  or  two  ;  tuid 
I  shjili  erpm-t  you  to  accompany  me." 

Cl'drlotie'.s  pulse  leaped  with  joy.  With  nothing  to  bind 
her  to  the  past  but  ties  that  her  spirit  longed  to  sever,  it  is  no 
wondiT  that  she  rca''hu'l  out  the  eager  hand  of  welcome  tc 
the  future  pmiling  from  the  cloud  which  hud  darkened  before 
her  so  long. 


PROSPECTS.  21 5 


Yet  the  joy  was  tempered  with  deep  and  saddm.ng  thoughts; 
and  may  we  not  guess  that  the  image  of  one  she  loved  rose  trem- 
ulously before  her  then  ? 

That  night  Charlotte  dreamed  of  Hector.  She  went  with  Mrs. 
De  Rohan  to  San  Francisco,  where  she  found  him  waiting  for  her 
under  some  door-yard  trees,  which  bore  a  remarkable  resem- 
blance to  those  in  front  of  his  father's  house.  His  voice  and 
smile  were  real ;  and  all  things  glowed  with  a  happy  blue-and- 
golden  light,  —  except  the  weather,  which  Charlotte  found  very 
cold.  It  was  so  cold  thut  she  awoke  ;  when  she  discovered  the 
fresh  morning  air  blowing  upon  her  bed.  She  had  left  her 
window  partly  open,  on  retiring,  and  the  wind  had  changed  during 
the  night. 

So  much  for  her  dream  ;  but  all  that  morning  Hector's  image 
haunted  her ;  and  she  chided  herself,  not  only  for  thinking  of 
him,  but  for  entertaining  such  fancies  even  in  a  dream. 

Mr.  Longman  sent  for  her  to  visit  his  unfortunate  son. 

"  He  has  somehow  conceived  the  notion  that  you  are  going  to 
desert  him,"  said  the  old  gentleman,  in  his  subdued  voice.  "  irou 
alone  have  any  influence  with  him  ;  and  I  have  faith  to  think 
that,  if  you  would  consent  to  remain  with  us,  his  reason  might  be 
restored.  I  know  what  a  sacrifice  it  will  be  for  you ;  but,  if  grat- 
itude can  repay  you  —  " 

Tears  blurred  Mr.  Longman's  vision  ;  his  white  eyelashes 
winked  them  away,  but  he  had  forgotten  just  what  he  was  saying, 
and  failed  to  complete  the  sentence.  His  words  troubled  Char- 
lotte ;  and,  having  paid  Edward  a  visit,  and  rendered  him  quiet 
and  obedient  to  the  wishes  of  his  friends,  she  withdrew  to  her 
chamber  to  consider  what  it  was  her  duty  to  do. 

The  engagement  with  Mrs.  De  Rohan  seemed  too  advantageous 
to  be  abandoned.  It  promised  freedom  and  a  new  life.  On  the 
other  hand,  if  she  could  work  a  vital  benefit  to  any  fellow  unfor- 
tunate, was  the  opportunity  to  be  neglected  ? 

She  determined  to  dismiss  the  subject  from  her  thoughts  until 
the  following  day,  and  sat  down  to  write  a  letter  to  Mrs.  Dun 
bury.  'She  had  not  finished  the  sheet,  when  a  servant  appeared, 
to  inform  her  that  there  was  a  gentleman  below,  waiting  to  seo 


214  PROSPECTS 


her.  She  could  scarce  refrain  from  uttering  a  cry  ol  d stress , 
but  instantly  her  mind  was  made  up ;  she  determined  not  to  go 
down. 

"  He  did  not  give  his  name,"  said  the  servant. 

"  It  was  unnecessary,"  replied  Charlotte.  "  No  gentleman 
would  call  on  me  whom  I  wish  tc  see  to-day.  Say  to  him,  I  am 
engaged." 

She  was  incensed  against  herself  because  llobert  Greenwich 
still  had  power  to  unstring  her  nerves,  and  quicken  the  movements 
of  her  timid  heart.  She  did  not  know  how  agitated  she  was 
until  the  servant  had  disappeared,  and  she  once  more  took  up 
her  pen  to  write.  In  a  moment,  the  subject  she  had  been 
weighing  in  her  mind  that  morning  was  decided.  "  I  will  go  with 
Mrs.  De  Kohan.  Then  let  him  follow  me  to  the  ends  of  the 
earth,  if  he  will  !  " 

The  servant  reappeared.  "  The  gentleman's  compliments ; 
and  if  Miss  Woods  is  engaged,  he  will  wait  in  the  parlor  until 
she  is  ready  to  see  him." 

"  \Vhat  effrontery  !  Let  him  wait,  then  !  —  No !  "  she  exclaimed, 
calling  the  servant  back  ;  "  I  will  go  down  !  " 

Five  minutes  later,  she  entered  the  parlor.  Her  color  was 
heightened ;  an  expression  of  pain  and  dread  was  written  upon 
her  brow ;  but  her  large  eyes  beamed  with  a  clear  and  steady 
light,  and  her  step,  her  carriage,  and  the  curving  of  her  mouth, 
were  queenly. 

She  turned  to  the  corner  where  the  visitor  stood.  He  had 
been  pacing  the  floor,  and  on  her  entrance  had  halted  where  she 
found  him  ;  but,  after  a  moment's  hesitation  he  advanced  and  sank 
upon  his  knee  at  her  feet. 

"  Charlotte  !  "  breathed  a  voice  whose  tones  thrilled  in  every 
fibre  of  her  frame. 

"  Hector  !  "  she  cried  out,  in  wild  and  eager  surprise ;  then 
turning  with  a  gesture  of  despair,  she  fell  forward  upon  the  sofa, 
hiding  her  face  from  his  sight. 

He  went  and  stood  by  her  side.  He  bent  over  her,  putting 
aside  the  curls  from  her  cheek.  He  knelt  again  and  kissed  tho 


PROSPECTS.  215 


hand  that  Lung  over  the  arm  of  the  sofa.  His  very  touch 
betrayed  the  tumult  in  his  breast. 

"  Speak  to  n;e  !  look  at  me  !     Why  do  you  turn  from  me  so  ?  " 

"  I  thought,"  she  said,  in  a  stilled  and  broken  voice,  "  I 
thought  you  were  —  another  !  " 

"  Perhaps,  then,  had  you  known,  you  would  not  have  deigned 
to  see  me  !  " 

"  Yes ;  I  will  be  plain  and  true  with  you.  I  would,  but  I 
.should  have  been  prepared;  'I  should  not  have  been  surprised  by 
this  weakness." 

"  You  had  no  presentiment,  ever  so  shadowy  and  vague,  that 
I  would  come  ?  " 

"  None  !  "  exclaimed  Charlotte  ;  "  or,  if  I  had,  I  dismissed  it 
as  the  vainest  dream  of  my  life." 

Hector  seated  himself,  and  laid  his  hand  upon  her  arm  with  a 
touch  that  thrilled  her  still.  "  Tell  me,  Charlotte,  are  you  not 
conscious  of  an  influence  that  chains  you  to  me,  and  me  to  you, 
inevitably  ?  Go  down  into  the  deepest  and  purest  waters  of  your 
heart,  and  find  the  response  !  " 

"  If  ever  I  thought  so,"  answered  Charlotte,  "  then  I  was 
deceived." 

"  I  believe  in  one  only  great  and  overmastering  love  !  "  said 
Hector.  "  By  its  magnetism  soul  is  bound  with  soul,  as  sphere 
to  sphere  in  the  heavens.  It  has  an  astrology  of  its  own,  that 
reveals  heart  to  heart  at  any  distances.  If  in  my  wanderings 
from  you  I  have  not  felt  your  spirit  following  me,  and  drawing 
me  back,  —  if  when  furthest  from  you  I  have  not  been  with  you, 
and  you  with  me,  continual!}-, —  then  there  is  no  wisdom  or  virtue 
in  me ! " 

"  O,  but  when  I  told  you  my  history,  your  love  was  not  proof 
against  that !  You  said  it  placed  life  and  death  between  us. 
You  left  me  with  those  words.  I  did  not  blame  you  :  but,  if  you 
ielt  so  once,  you  will  again.  I  should  not  dare,  I  should  not 
dare,  after  that  —  " 

"  I  am  not  here,"  responded  Hector's  deep  and  earnest  tones, 
"  to  make  weak  excuses  for  weak  conduct.  I  acted  then  only  as 
he  whom  you  knew  as  Hector  could  act.  Trial  and  absence  wcro 


216  PROSPECTS. 


necessary  to  self-knowledge.  The  moment  you  were  shut  from 
my  sight,  I  saw  the  stupendous  folly,  the  guilt,  of  sacrificing  all 
that  could  make  true  happiness  for  me  on  earth,  to  the  paltry 
considerations  of  expediency.  I  had  sold  my  birthright  for  a  mess 
of  pottage.  I  had  given  love,  the  life  of  my  life,  to  fatten  an 
unworthy  pride.  One  day  I  visited  a  public  show,  and  saw 
living  doves  put  into  the  cages  of  serpents.  I  recognized  the 
image  of  my  own  sin.  I  had  been  feeding  my  doves  to  serpents ! 
For  days  the  picture  was  before  me ;  it  haunted  my  sleep ;  I 
awoke  in  groans  of  agony  from  the  horror  of  the  dream.  I  had 
no  respite,  until  I  had  slain  the  serpents.  I  rescued  the  doves  —  I 
opened  the  cage, —  and  all  with  one  accord  flew  joyously  through 
the  clear  heaven  of  my  soul  to  you !  Now,  call  me  changeable, 
if  you  will ;  reproach  me  for  the  wrong  I  did  you ;  but  here  I  am, 
obedient,  not  to  any  caprice,  not  to  inclination  or  passion  merely, 
but  to  the  deepest  convictions  and  holiest  promptings  of  my 
nature !  " 

Charlotte  looked  in  his  eyes.  They  were  pure  as  the  unclouded 
heavens.  They  filled  her  with  such  strange  and  perilous  sensa- 
tions, that,  alarmed  at  herself,  she  turned  away. 

"  But  the  serpents  —  I  will  never  give  them  cause  to  turn  their 
rage  against  me  !  " 

"  If  they  had  not  been  killed,  I  should  not  be  bore,"  said  Hec- 
tor. "  What  pledge  can  I  give  you  ?  I  know  of  none  but  that 
of  a  life  devoted  henceforth  to  you  !  " 

"  And  that  I  cannot,  you  know  I  cannot  accept !  Do  not 
torture  me  more!  Think  of  what  I  am;  think  of  yourself! 
Remember  your  mother,  too,  she  who  is  so  proud  of  you  !  " 

"  If  her  pride  is  a  true  pride,"  said  Hector,  with  noble  enthu- 
siasm, "  she  will  rejoice  that  her  son  had  the  courage  to  set  his 
heel  upon  prejudice  and  conventionality,  and  stand  by  your  side, 
in  the  face  of  the  world." 

"  Your  heart  is  too  generous  !  "  replied  Charlotte,  in  a  calm, 
low  voice.  "  Such  sentiments  cannot  be  taken  into  the  world 
and  live.  An  impassable  gulf  divides  us ;  I  feel  it,  if  you  do 
not ;  and  I  shudder  when  you  draw  me  to  the  brink." 


PROSPECTS.  217 

Hector  had  expected  opposition,  but  nothing  like  thi?.  blifl 
epokc  in  fearful  earnest ;  and  he  knew  it. 

"  If  you  tell  me  this  because  you  do  not  love  me,  I  am  satis- 
fied. I  -*ii!  not  plead  one  moment.  But  it  ic  you,  now,  who 
are  untriio,  both  to  yourself  and  me." 

She  faltered,  and  her  tears  fell.  He  took  her  in  his  arms,  and 
she  sobh-fcd  aloud.  It  was  a  moment  of  intense  suffering,  suffused 
with  an  indefinable  happiness,  which  his  mere  presence  shed 
about  h:r  like  dew.  But  she  hastened  to  recover  herself,  and 
put  him  trently  from  her. 

"  If  you  did  not  know  your  power  over  me,  at  least  you  know 
it  now  !  "  she  said,  with  touching  pathos.  "  But,  if  you  are  gen- 
erous, you  will  not  use  it.  Whatever  weakness  I  may  show,  my 
resolution  is  unmoved.  My  future  is  already  planned." 

She  spoke  of  her  engagement  with  Mrs.  De  Rohan.  The 
reviving  joyousness  with  which  she  expressed  her  anticipations  of 
crossing  the  ocean,  and  of  thus  embracing  a  destiny  in  which  ha 
had  no  share,  filled  Hector  with  insupportable  pain.  But  when 
she  added  that  she  had  not  forgotten  that  England  was  his  father- 
land, and  that  when  there  she  should  think  of  him  often,  he 
sprang  impetuously  to  his  feet. 

"  Often  !  indeed  !  I  have  no  more  to  say  !  I  might  be  satisfied 
with  often !  Henceforth  my  lips  are  sealed!  0,  Charlotte  —  " 
He  paused ;  the  younger  Mrs.  Longman  was  at  the  door. 


Hector  explained  to  his  relative,  with  his  customary  frankness, 
that  he  had  not  come  to  Montreal  on  a  visit. 

"  On  arriving  home,  two  nights  ago,  I  learned  that  Miss  Woods 
had  deserted  my  mother.  She  was  languishing,  in  her  absence  ; 
said  I,  '  I  will  follow,  and  bring  her  back.'  But  she  has  made 
different  arrangements,  and  all  that  remains  for  me  is  to  return 
alone." 

At  this  crisis,  a  note  was  handed  in  "  for  Miss  Woods."  The 
eagerness  with  which  she  opened  and  read  it  did  not  escape 
Hector's  jealous  eye.  He  judged  it  to  be  from  Mrs.  De  Hohan. 
He  was  not  mistaken ;  it  was  a  request  for  Charlotte  to  call  upon 
ht-r  that  morning. 

19 


218  PROSPECTS. 


"  HOY  long  will  you  be  gone ?  "  asked  Mrs.  Longman. 

"  Possibly  a  greater  part  of  the  day.     I  can  walk,"  stiid  Cliai 
loitc  ;  "  it  is  not  far,  and  I  need  the  exercise/' 

•'  It  is  too  far,"  said  the  widow.  "  Hector  shall  carry  you  in 
the  chaise." 

Charlotte  left  the  room.  She  \?as  absent  near  half  an  hour, 
when,  returning,  with  her  bonnet  and  shawl,  she  placed  a. letter 
in  Hector's  hand. 

"If  you  will  give  that  to  your  motbor — "  Her  voice  was 
tremulous,  her  eyes  fell,  and  Hector  saw  that  iu  her  hand  she 
held  another  letter,  which  she  hesitated  to  give  him. 

"  I  am  going  with  you,"  he  said.  "  If  you  prefer  to  walk,  we 
will  walk ;  but  the  chaise  is  at  the  door." 

"  As  you  please,"  responded  Charlotte. 

"  Do  you  remember  our  first  ride  together,"  he  asked,  as  he 
helped  her  into  the  chaise.  "  And  the  catastrophe,  Charlotte  ? 
—  when  you  clung  to  my  arm,  and  oar  souls  knew  each  other,  in 
the  hour  of  danger?  0,  what  a  life-time  'twixt  then  and  now  ! 
Then  and  now  !  "  he  repeated,  as  they  rode  away.  "  0,  strange, 
strange  experience  !  And  you  —  you —  " 

A  passion  of  grief  seemed  bursting  in  his  voice;  but  he  checked 
it,  and  fixed  his  features  firm,  and  drove  on  in  silence. 

"  We  are  close  by  Mrs.  De  Rohan's  house,"  said  Charlotte,  at 
length.  "  Speak  to  me  one  last  kind  word,  which  it  will  be 
pleasant  to  remember,  if  I  should  not  see  you  again,  will  you 
not  ?  " 

"  Charlotte  !  "  exclaimed  Hector,  "  we  do  not  part  so  !  You  do 
not  know  in  what  an  abyss  I  feel  myself  sinking  at  the  thought 
of  it.  All  my  bitter-and-sweet  experience  up  to  this  hour  serves 
but  to  make  a  separation  unendurable.  And  now  —  now  —  to 
have  your  own  choice  decide  against  me,  to  see  you  depart  free 
a^  J  joyous  in  the  pathway  of  a  new  existence,  in  which  I  have  no 
part ;  it  makes  my  brain  whirl,  and  my  heart  burst !  Charlotte  ! 
it  cannot  be  !  " 

"  You  misunderstand  me !  "  said  Charlotte ;  "  but  I  cannot 
answer  yon  now.  I  must  stop  here.  This  is  the  house." 

"  The  house  will  wait  for  us  h;lf  an  hour." 


PROSPECTS.  219 


"  .No ;  I  will  stop  now.  If  you  wish  to  see  me  again,  come, 
and  I  will  ride  back  with  you." 

"  Give  me  that  letter  you  have  for  me,  and  I  will." 

"  I  wrote  it  when  I  did  not  expect  to  see  you  again  ;  but,  since 
you  are  to  call  for  me  —  " 

"The  letter !"  exclaimed  Hector.  She  gave  it  to  him.  He 
accompanied  her  to  the  door ;  she  entered,  and,  returning  to  the 
chaise,  he  hid  himself  in  the  corner  of  the  seat,  and  read  the 
letter. 

It  was  the  sweetest  and  yet  bitterest  morsel  his  eyes  had  ever 
devoured.  In  the  first  half  Charlotte  had  expressed  a  depth,  a 
purity,  and  intensity  of  love,  in  words  which  came  all  alive  and 
glowing  from  her  soul.  But  in  the  concluding  portion  she 
expressed  an  irrevocable  decision  "to  fulfil  her  engagement  with 
Mrs.  De  Rohan,  and  stated  peremptory  reasons  that  forbade  the 
very  thought  of  a  union  with  Hector.  One  page  he  kissed  with 
passionate  fervor ;  the  other  he  struck  and  crushed,  in  the  torture 
which  it  inflicted.  He  was  still  tormenting  himself  in  this  man- 
ner, when  Charlotte  reappeared.  They  rode  on  for  some  dis- 
tance in  silence. 

"  Well,"  said  Hector,  at  length,  "  tell  me  !  " 

"  I  cannot  tell  you  what  you  want  me  to,"  replied  Charlotte. 

"  You  still  hold  to  the  decision  expressed  in  this  letter  ?  " 

A  tremulous  "Yes"  was  the  response.  "Will  you  give  it  back 
to  me  ?  "  added  Charlotte. 

Hector  took  the  letter,  and,  tearing  off  the  last  page,  scattered 
it  in  fragments  upon  Charlotte's  lap. 

"  That  part  is  unworthy  of  you !  The  rest  is  dear  to  me,  and 
I  shall  keep  it." 

Another  silence.  Charlotte  gathered  up  the  fragments,  and 
destroyed  them. 

"  Hector,"  she  said,  at  length,  "I  am  not  going  with  Mrs.  De 
llohan."  Joy  leaped  in  Hector's  heart.  "Because  I  cannot," 
added  Charlotte.  "  Even  Providence  seems  working  against  me  ! 
She  has  received  letters  which  have  decided  her  to  go  south,  and 
.spend  the  winter  with  a  brother  in  Mobile." 


220  PROSPECTS. 


At  dinner,  that  day,  Hector  appeared  in  his  best  mood  His 
cheerfulness,  his  simple  and  sweet  wisdom,  his  flashing  wit,  and 
the  soft  splendor  of  his  eye,  charmed  his  relatives.  The  welcome 
intelligence  that  Charlotte  would  probably  remain  in  the  family 
had  rendered  them  susceptible  to  the  influence ;  and  their  appre- 
ciation drew  Hector  on.  Their  sympathy  filled  the  cup  that  over- 
flowed again  to  them.  And  the  fact  that  Charlotte  was  herself  a 
listener  was  to  his  mind  as  morning  to  the  lark.  For  her  it  sang 
its  loftiest  strain,  and  beat  with  its  joyous  wings  the  golden  lattice 
of  heaven.  No  matter  what  the  conversation  was :  the  topic- 
were  various,  but  every  theme  he  touched,  however  lowly,  —  lika 
troughs  and  swine  in  the  landscape  of  the  artist,  —  received  a 
ray  of  the  Supreme  Beauty.  All  this  without  any  pedantry  or 
display ;  but  his  imagination  shed  its  radiance  as  it  passed,  as 
naturally  as  the  sun.  Charlotte  never  spoke  ;  but,  troubled,  trem- 
bling, happy,  her  spirit  drew  near  and  sat  at  his  feet  to  listen. 
After  dinner  she  could  not  refrain  from  thanking  him  for  teaching 
her  so  much. 

"  I  never  heard  even  you,"  she  said,  "  talk  like  that  before." 

"  Because,"  replied  Hector,  "  when  you  knew  me  before,  I  had 
not  lived  the  life  I  have  lived  since.  If  we  would  utter  a  truth, 
we  must  first  make  it  ours  by  deed  and  experience." 

Charlotte  pondered.  Hector  was  indeed  changed.  Surely  he 
had  set  his  feet  upon  chains  that  fettered  him  before.  A  sweet 
voice  within  her  whispered  that  here  was  truth  to  be  trusted,  — 
that  here  was  indeed  a  noble  and  heroic  love.  Had  she  done 
justice  to  herself  and  him  ?  Was  it  right  that  the  words  he  had 
uttered  that  morning,  thrilling  her  so,  should  be  turned  away,  like 
singing  children,  from  the  door  of  her  heart,  because  she  was 
fearful  of  thieves  ?  0,  too  delicious  thought,  that  they  might  be 
entertained  in  the  innermost  chamber  of  love's  fond  belief! 


XXIV. 

THE  JUDGMENT. 

THAT  evening,  Hector  and  Charlotte  sat  conversing  in  the 
parlor ;  Mrs.  Longman  had  withdrawn,  and  they  were  left  alone. 
The  clock  struck  nine. 

"  How  the  hours  fly ! "  said  Hector.  "  The  door-bell  takes  up 
the  echo, — unwelcome  sound! — but,  as  there  can  be  no  persona 
fur  us,  we  will  forestall  an  interruption.'' 

He  led  the  way  to  a  small  side-room  communicating  with  the 
parlor.  Scarce  had  they  passed  the  door,  when  a  servant 
announced  "  A  gentleman  to  see  Miss  Woods."  Both  started, 
and  murmured,  simultaneously,  a  hated  name 

"  Shall  I  see  him  ?  "  asked  Charlotte. 

"  As  well  now  as  ever,"  replied  Hector. 

A  brief  delay  was  necessary  for  Charlotte  to  collect  her 
thoughts,  and  summon  strength  for  the  interview.  Then,  calm, 
composed,  filled  with  a  deep,  unruffled  happiness,  which  she  had 
drawn  from  Hector's  presence  and  sympathy,  she  entered  the  par- 
lor and  stood  before  the  visitor,  waiting  for  him  to  speak. 

"  You  will  not  take  my  hand  ?  " 

No  word  or  motion  in  reply  ;  but  she  looked  down  upon  him 
from  her  serene  height,  as  if  he  had  been  a  worm. 

"  Nor  speak  to  me  ?  "  added  the  visitor,  with  a  struggling  des- 
peration in  his  tone. 

The  recoiling  disgust,  the  unutterable  scorn  and  pride,  with 
which  she  regarded  him,  was  her  sole  response. 

«  My  God !  »•  groaned  Robert,  in  a  burst  of  passion,  "  I  am  the 
most  wretched  of  men !     If  you  would  do  me  a  kindness,  strike 
that  into  my  heart ! " 
19* 


222  TIIE   JUDGMENT. 


He  threw  himself  upon  his  knees,  and,  springing  open  the  long 
bright  blade  of  a  dirk-knife,  placed  its  handle  in  her  hand.  A 
wild  impulse  seized  Charlotte ;  she  grasped  the  weapon.  Robert 
saw  the  fire  kindle  in  her  eye.  Her  features  darkened  and  con- 
tracted ;  and  the  next  moment,  the  point  was  at  his  breast. 

"  Do  not  hesitate !  It  is  the  least  cruel  thing  you  have  done  to 
me,  —  strike !  " 

Charlotte  flung  the  weapon  behind  her,  on  the  floor. 

"  Arise  !  "  she  commanded  ;  "  I  pity  you !  " 

Robert  fell  upon  his  face,  and  ground  his  teeth.  Suddenly  ho 
started  up,  and,  with  looks  of  fury,  rushed  to  clutch  the  knife. 
But  it  had  disappeared. 

"  Give  it  me  !  —  I  will  end  myself !  " 

"  Poor  wretch  !  "  said  Charlotte.  "  you  know  not  what  you  do ' 
—  Why  are  you  here  ?  " 

"  Because  it  is  my  destiny  !  because  I  am  condemned,  and 
driven,  lashed  and  chained,  to  this  torment !  Mrs.  Sperkley 
told  me  of  you,  and  made  me  promise  not  to  come ;  you  see  how 
easily  I  broke  my  word !  It  is  not  because  I  am  apt  at  perjury  ; 
but  my  love  is  overwhelming,  I  am  no  more  my  own  master.  I 
knew  you  would  scorn  me.  You  have  seen  in  me  —  you  see  in 
me  —  only  the  villain;  and  villain  enough  I  was,  and  am,  God 
knows !  But  my  love  for  you  has  been  my  greatest  fault.  It  has 
prompted  me  to  seize  you,  to  hold  you,  to  make  you  mine  for- 
ever, at  all  hazards  !  Had  Hector's  possessed  half  the  intensity  of 
mine,  he  could  never  have  deserted  you ;  he  would  be  now  at  your 
feet," 

"0  —  shameful !  "  exclaimed  Charlotte,  —  "  to  call  your  base- 
ness love,  to  compare  yourself  with  him  !  —  a  reptile  to  an  eagle  !  — 
when  no  one  act  of  yours,  in  all  your  dealings  with  me,  has  been 
prompted  by  aught  but  the  most  utter  and  eager  selfishness  !  And 
now,  to  speak  of  LOVE  !  " 

Robert's  frame  shook.  "  The  conviction  that  I  have  brought 
all  this  upon  myself  fills  me  with  red-hot  rage !  I  might  have 
made  you  my  wife,  —  but  a  cursed  pride  restrained  me ;  —  and  sc 
I  appeared  all  unworthy,  as  indeed  I  was !  But,  since  I  would 
now  repair  that  error — " 


TIIE   JUDGMENT.  223 


<  Speak  not  of  what  you  might  have  done,  or  of  what  you  would 
«Io  now !  If  ever  I  felt  gratitude  towards  you,  I  now  feel  only 
abhorrence  and  pity  !  If  this  is  what  you  came  to  hear,  it  is  said, 
—  I  can  say  no  more.  —  Go  !  " 

Robert's  face  was  tortured  and  dark,  his  teeth  and  lips  were 
closed,  and  his  impure  eyes  burned  redly,  as  he  turned  and  looked 
around  him.  Half-stunned,  struggling  with  some  inward  fury,  he 
seemed  to  know  not  what  to  do.  Charlotte  left  him  so,  and 
returned  towards  the  side-room  ;  but,  seeing  her  form  about  to 
disappear,  he  sprang  after  her,  and  clasped  her  hand.  With  an 
exclamation  of  ]oathing,  she  flung  him  off,  in  the  strength  of  her 
roused  spirit,  as  if  he  had  been  a  viper. 

"  No !  no ! "  he  muttered,  with  fierce  determination,  pressing 
towards  hei  again.  "  I  will  sooner  kill  you,  and  die  myself,  than 
leave  you  cso  !  " 

But  his  arm  suddenly  fell  from  her,  as  if  it  had  been  paralyzed. 
His  face  grew  white. 

"  Here  is  your  silly  toy,"  said  Hector,  displaying  the  dirk  ; 
"  and  thus  do  I  defeat  your  villany  !  "  snapping  the  blade  in  twain. 
"  But  that  I  shrink  from  soiling  my  hands,  I  could  not  resist  the 
impulse  to  hurl  you  from  the  window." 

Charlotte  trembled  with  a  sort  of  fearful  pride  in  Hector's  power 
His  address  was  princely  ;  calm  and  gracious,  yet  in  its  meaning 
terrible.  Still  llobert  shrank ;  even  his  characteristic  audacity 
failed  him  then. 

"  Your  prophecy  has  come  true,"  he  said,  with  a  pallid  smile 
"  We  have  met." 

"  But  we  have  not  parted  !  "  answered  Hector.  "  We  have  an 
account  together,  which  may  as  well  be  settled  now." 

"  The  sooner  the  better  !  "  said  Robert,  doggedly. 

"  A  dark  and  heavy  score  is  marked  against  your  name,  Robert 
Greenwich  !  'T  would  take  too  long  to  read  you  every  item,  but 
the  sum  total  is  —  VILLAXY!  " 

"  How  have  I  wronged  you  ?  " 

"  How  have  you  wronged  me  ?  0,  outrage  against  reason  ! 
How  have  you  wronged  right  and  truth  ?  How  have  you  wronged 
h°r?"  —  and  Hector  brought  Charlotte  face  to  face  with  him 


224  THE    JUDGMENT. 


and  looked  at  both.  It  was  like  an  angel  standing  before  a  fiend 
and  accusing  him  only  by  the  brightness  of  purity  shining  in  her 
face.  A  lurid  vengeance  gathered  in  Robert's  visage. 

"  But  that  I  disdain  excuses,  I  could,  by  one  word,  acquit 
myself  towards  her  !  " 

Hector  smiled  :  "  By  all  means,  speak  that  word  ;  for,  by  the 
same,  we  may  restore  lustre  to  the  blackened  characters  of  St.  Judas 
and  St.  Herod  !  " 

"  You  are  duped  !  "  said  Robert.  "  She  has  been  Careful  not 
to  tell  you  what  she  was  —  and  what  I  did  for  her.  I  will  tell 
you  !  "  —  and  a  devilish  exultation  gleamed  in  his  eyes.  "  She 
was  —  she  is  —  " 

A  swift  bufiet  from  Hector's  palm  shattered  the  word  upon  hi 3 
lips.  He  reeled  back  against  the  marble  chimney.  Charlotte 
grew  pale ;  but  Hector  stood  calm  and  smiling  before  his  quiver- 
ing antagonist. 

"  Nay,  do  not  clinch  your  fist,  and  bite  your  teeth  !  I  could 
trample  you  in  the  dust !  O,  villain  !  dolt !  if,  in  your  ignorance 
of  her  and  me,  you  imagined  I  had  not  heard,  from  her  own 
true  lips,  all  you  would  have  told  me,  and  more,  you  rested  jour 
purpose  of  revenge  upon  foundations  false  and  rotten  as  your  own 
heart ! " 

"  This  blow,"  uttered  Robert,  in  accents  thick  and  hoarse,  the 
slow  blood  trickling  from  his  lips.  —  "  'twill  be  revenged  !  " 

"  Revenge  it  now  :  I  stand  before  you  !  But  beware  !  there  is 
a  mine  of  danger  in  my  soul !  Take  heed  how  your  rash  feet 
approach  '  " 

Robert  fumed  and  choked.  "  0,  you  can  bluster !  you  can 
boast!  but — "  he  smiled  a  ghastly  smile  —  "we  shall  meet 
again  !  " 

"  If  you  desire  the  happiness,  after  we  part,  this  night,"  said 
Hector,  "  amen  !  but  we  shall  see." 

"  Yes  —  we  shall  see!  You  know  me  !  "  said  Robert.  "  I  do 
not  forget;  I  do  not  sleep  upon  an  injury.  Indeed,  we  shall 
see ! " 

He  moved  towards  the  door.     Hector  stepped  before  him. 

'•  Not  yet !  —  Charlotte,  go  out  and  lock  us  in  !  We  can  settle 
this  business  best  alone." 


THE   JUDGMENT.  225 


"  There  is  no  key,"  said  Charlotte,  pale  with  apprehension,  — 
"  and  there  are  persons  in  the  hall !  " 

"  You  mean  to  stop  me?  "  cried  Robert. 

"  Touch  but  your  hand  to  me,  if  you  would  know  how  well  1 
mean  it !  —  Charlotte,  stay  !  One  word  while  we  are  together. 
There  was  an  affair  of  a  letter.  It  was  somewhat  mysterious,  and 
Mr.  Greenwich  shall  explain." 

"  Stand  from  the  door,"  said  Robert,  "or  I  will  not  speak  ono 
word." 

Smiling,  and  with  folded  arms,  Hector  stepped  aside.  But  his 
eye  was  alert,  and  fixed  like  an  eagle's  on  Robert. 

"  If  it  is  the  letter  troubles  you  so  much,"  faltered  the  latter, 
"  I  pretended  to  have  received  one,  it  is  true.  She  will  tell  you 
that  she  gave  me  no  opportunity  to  set  her  right  upon  that  point ; 
else  I  should  have  done  so." 

•'  Before  her,  then,  you  confess  there  was  no  letter?" 

"  I  took  an  old  one,  by  chance,  from  my  pocket.  It  was  the 
caprice  of  a  moment,  —  to  try  its  effect,  —  not  to  deceive  her." 

"  An  old  one  you  took  by  chance  from  your  pocket ! "  repeated 
Hector.  "  A  momentary  caprice  !  The  artifice  was  not  precon- 
ceived !  Do  I  understand  ?  " 

"  Is  not  my  word  enough  ?  " 

"  No  !     Falsehood  can  go  no  further  !     Look  you  here  !  " 

And  the  evidence  of  Robert's  guilt  was  displayed,  in  faithful 
black-and-white,  before  his  astonished  eyes. .  Hector  struck  the 
paper. 

"  A  momentary  caprice  !  an  unpremeditated  artifice  !  an  old 
chance  letter !  There  is  my  name,  attached  to  an  infamous  slan- 
der!  To  debase  me  in  her  sight,  to  drive  her  to  despair,  you 
invented  this  device.  Shift  and  turn  now  as  you  will,  —  you  are 
in  my  power,  and  at  my  mercy  !  " 

Robert's  face  was  of  a  cowardly  hue ;  but  a  stubborn  pride  sus- 
tained him,  and  he  answered,  sullenly, 

"  Well,  sir,  make  the  most  of  it !  " 

"  For  the  truth's  sake,  I  will !  Now,  go,  if  you  wish  ;  but  I 
shall  go  with  you.  In  this  house  I  am  a  visitor;  I  do  not  care 
to  make  it  the  scene  of  further  disturbance,  and  I  know  not  what 


226  THE    JUDGMENT. 


may  arrive.  There  is  your  hat,  which  you  had  forgotten,  in  youi 
recent  haste." 

Hector  stepped  to  the  side-room.  Charlotte  followed  him, 
alarmed. 

"  Do  not  go  out  with  him  !  "  she  pleaded. 

"  Where  is  your  faith?  "  said  Hector.  "  I  have  a  solemn  les- 
son for  that  man,  which  can  be  taught  only  beneath  the  stars. 
Fear  nothing." 

It  was  easy  to  say,  have  faith,  and  do  not  fear !  But  when 
Charlotte  saw  the  despair  and  mortal  hate  in  Robert's  face,  as  he 
went  forth,  she  trembled.  Hector  pressed  her  hand  at  the  door, 
which  she  held  open,  and,  flinging  his  cloak  about  him,  walked  on 
by  Robert's  side.  It  was  a  dreary  street.  The  night  was  dark 
and  the  wind  whistled ;  they  had  soon  passed  from  sight,  and  tht 
echo  of  their  footsteps  died  away. 


XXV. 

TOWARDS   MIDNIGHT. 

CHARLOTTE  remained  some  minutes  at  the  door.  The  old  irce« 
before  the  house  groaned,  and  creaked,  and  tossed  their  desolate, 
naked  arms,  in  the  blast.  The  thin,  white  moon  was  setting; 
phantom  clouds  careered  in  the  sky ;  the  startled  stars  seemed 
flying  from  their  spheres.  The  apparition  of  a  dim,  gliding  figure, 
skulking  away  as  she  gazed,  served  to  heighten  Charlotte's  appre- 
hensions. It  disappeared  in  the  direction  Hector  and  Robert  had 
taken.  Could  it  be  an  accomplice  of  the  latter?  She  ventured 
out  upon  the  steps ;  but  she  strained  her  eyes  in  vain  to  penetrate 
the  darkness,  and  she  shrank  back  breathless  into  the  hall. 

How  fearful,  at  such  times,  it  is  to  sit  alone  arid  wait !  How 
the  ear  throbs  to  catch  every  sound ;  how  awful  the  silence ;  how 
dreary  the  moan  of  the  wind !  Charlotte,  alone  in  the  parlor, 
listened  till  the  air  seemed  all  alive  with  invisible  intelligences, 
that  hovered  to  and  fro,  that  groaned  in  the  chimney,  that  sighed 
beneath  the  tables,  that  ticked  in  the  wall,  that  clattered  at  the 
casement,  and  tapped,  with  elfish  laughter,  on  the  panes.  Twice 
she  thought  she  heard  distant  pistol-shots.  An  hour  dragged  by, 
each  moment  heaping  its  weight  upon  her  anxious  mind.  Two 
hours  elapsed.  Surely,  surely,  some  evil  had  arrived  to  Hector; 
else  he  would  return.  She  divided  the  time  'twixt  gazing  from 
the  window,  listening  at  the  door,  walking  nervously  up  and 
down,  and  lying  upon  the  sofa,  with  her  face  buried  in  her  hands. 

She  was  on  the  point  of  seeking  the  family,  to  inform  them  of 
the  cause  of  her  alarm,  when  she  heard  an  ^mmching  tread. 
She  flew  to  the  window ;  she  recognized  the  welcome  cloak  an<? 
hat.  She  was  at  the  ^oor  in  an  instuut. 


228  TOWARDS    MIDNIGHT. 


"  0,  Hector !  I  was  never  glad  "  —  till  now,  she  would  have 
added;  but  her  voice  died  in  her  throat.  What  new  suspense  was 
this?  With  the  sombre  cloak  thrown  across  his  chest,  muffling 
his  face,  he  stood  motionless  upon  the  threshold. 

"  Hector !  why  is  this?     Come  in  ! '' 

Still  muffled  in  the  cloak,  he  entered  without  speaking,  and 
moved  slowly  towards  the  room  in  which  the  lamp  was  burning. 
Charlotte  uttered  a  cry. 

"  You  are  not  Hector  !  " 

The  figure  turned,  and  stood  regarding  her  from  beneath  the 
shadow  of  the  hat.  The  hat  was  certainly  Hector's;  likewise  the 
cloak  ;  but  the  form,  the  step,  the  manner  —  how  changed  !  Char- 
lotte Baited  for  a  word  or  look  of  explanation.  A  solemn  obei- 
sance ;  then  the  hat  was  slowly  raised,  and  the  folds  of  the  cloak 
fell  from  the  hidden  face. 

"  Edward !  " 

Another  stately  bow  from  the  hat  and  cloak. 

"  Your  majesty  !  " 

"  Where  is  Hector?" 

"  Five  fathoms  deep,  where  the  salamanders  sleep  !  —  I  inquired 
for  the  Duchess  of  Dingledom,  and  they  said  she  had  gone  to  the 
moon.  With  rings  on  her  fingers,  and  'bells  on  her  toes,  that  she 
may  have  music  wherever  she  goes.  Quippe  ! " 

And  the  prime  minister,  pirouetting  on  his  left  foot,  whirled 
three  times,  and  stood  before  Charlotte,  solemn  and  stately  as 
ever. 

"  Edward  !  Edward  !  do  not  do  so  !  " 

"  The  other  way  ?  "  —  And,  pirouetting  on  his  right  foot,  he 
turned  thrice  in  the  opposite  direction,  and  stood  facing  her,  as 
before.  "There  shall  be  dancers  in  our  kingdom.  Dancers, 
pnmuers,  and  the  light  fantastic  toe.  As  a  religious  exercise, 
only.  I  am  the  centre  of  the  universe  :  when  I  turn,  all  creation 
whirls !  " 

"  0  !  tell  me,  Edward  !  where  is  Hector  ?  " 

"  There  are  s^te  in  rags,  and  some  in  shags,  and  some  in  vel- 
vet gowns  !  "  Edward  distended  the  wings  of  tVe  mantle.  "  This 
is  princely  costume.  When  the  warrior  Tcdls,  his  pockets  aro 


TOWARDS   MIDNIGHT.  229 


plundered.     And  nobody  knows  that  he  lies  there,  but  his  hawk 
and  his  hound,  and  his  ladye-fair." 

"  He  has  been  hurt !  "  cried  Charlotte. 

"  The  new  moon  was  just  over  the  old  church  steeple.  It 
lo.oked  like  a  rind  of  cheese  on  a  toasting-fork.  We  '11  have  three 
moons  in  our  kingdom,  —  one  yellow,  one  white,  and  one  pea- 
green.  Since  the  duchess  has  gone  to  the  moon,  the  man  in  the 
moon  will  be  henpecked.  The  sparrow's  cap  was  in  the  trap,  the 
cat  came  creeping  after,  —  pounce  !  they  '11  tell  you  the  remain- 
der of  the  history,  when  they  bring  in  the  feathers." 

"  Edward  !  "  articulated  Charlotte ;  "  dear  Edward  !  —  " 

"  The  deer  is  a  superb  creature ;  and  to  all  such  we  '11  give  en- 
couragement. We  '11  set  a  premium  on  fair  women,  too ;  and 
Sheba  shall  swarm  with  them.  But,  if  there  be  any  more  beauti- 
ful than  your  majesty,  they  shall  wear  veils.  'T  would  peril  man's 
balvation.  I  have  had  experience,  and  can  testify  for  the  race. — 
Who  comes  there  ?  — -  Stand  and  deliver  !  " 

It  was  Mrs.  Longman,  whom  Charlotte  had  summoned  by  the 
bell.  She  regarded  Edward  with  astonishment,  having  all  this 
time  believed  him  asleep  in  his  chamber.  She  looked  to  Char- 
lotte for  an  explanation,  and  imbibed  her  fears,  with  quick  sym- 
pathy, when  the  terrified  girl  spoke  of  Hector. 

"  Hector  was  a  Trojan,"  said  Edward.  "  He  was  chased  three 
times  around  the  walls,  when  —  chuck !  Achilles  cracked  him 
over !  Achilles'  wrath,  to  grace  the  direful  spring  of  woes  un- 
numbered—  Andromache  was  a  widow." 

"  How  did  you  leave  the  house?  " 

"  Not  by  the  front  threshold.     A  slimy  thing  had  crept  over ! ' 

"  Why  did  you  go  out?  " 

"To  look  after  the  prince.  He  lacks  attendants,  and  his  state 
is  beggarly.  —  Solemn  times,  —  when  alligators  walk  on  two  feet, 
anl  carry  murder  in  their  bosoms  !  " 

"  Was  there  a  quarrel  ?  " 

"  The  cat  will  play,  and  after  slay  !  "     Edwar^made  a  i  crridly 
suggestive  gesture,  by  drawing  his  hand,  witn\  gurgling  sound, 
across  his  throat.     "  Beards  shall    grow  long  in  our  kingdom  : 
razors  being  dangerous  !  " 
20 


230  TOWARDS  MIDNIGHT. 


"Edward,"  said  Mrs.  Longman,  kindly,  but  seriously,  "this 
tvill  not  do.  See !  you  distress  Charlotte,  who  has  been  so  good 
to  you ! " 

"  Hark  to  the  story !  "  —  Charlotte  and  the  widow  listened.  — 
'T  is  short  and  sweet : 

Robin's  wife  twelve  jewels  did  wear,  — 
Three  on  her  bosom,  and  nine  in  her  hair  ; 
But  the  jewel  more  precious  than  any,  said  I, 
Not  all  Robin's  riches  are  equal  to  buy. 

She  lacked  virtue.  Hence  the  elopement ;  and  Robin  lost  her 
and  her  jewels.  I  know  she  is  called  a  duchess ;  but  the  man  is 
not  her  husband.  The  ten  commandments  are  ten-pins,  which 
Satan  bowls  down  with  the  ball  of  temptation.  Since  one  has  been 
broken  so  often,  there  now  exist  but  nine.  When  one  falls,  tho 
others  topple.  Set  'em  up,  Reverend !  In  our  kingdom  there 
shall  be  a  new  system  of  virtue ;  which  will  come  through  the 
exaltation  of  our  lives,  and  our  devotion  to  old  cheese.  Green 
cheese,  innocence  ;  old  cheese,  virtue ;  curd  is  simplicity,  —  and 
development  is  exhibited  under  the  form  of  a  cheese-press. 
There  's  whey,  —  that 's  weakness  j  mould,  —  excessive  morality  ; 
and  bigotry  breeds  maggots." 

Charlotte  knew  not  what  to  do.  Perhaps  it  was  her  own  ex- 
citement that  provoked  Edward's  wildness;  but,  whatever  the 
cause,  she  appeared  to  have  lost  all  influence  over  him.  Evading 
her  questions,  he  continued  to  declaim  on  all  sorts  of  odd  subjects, 
disconnected,  yet  not  without  some  subtle  ratiocination  of  his  own, 
iumbling  together  fragments  of  sense  and  nonsense,  with  occasion- 
ally a  bright  gleam  of  wisdom,  shown  momentarily,  like  rays  of 
diamond  flashing  from  heaps  of  rubbish.  His  mind  seoined  like 
some  excellent  book,  with  its  pages  disarranged  and  torn,  and  its 
index  lost.  In  vain  Charlotte  attempted  to  restore  order  among 
the  leaves.  The  widow's  attempts  to  assist  but  rendered  matters 
worse,  ..nd  the  young  girl  was  ready  to  weep  in  utter  despair, 
when  the  sound  W  wheels  at  the  door  sent  a  thrill  to  her  heart. 
She  flow  to  open  it. 

There  was  a  rustling,  a  fluttering,  a  few  stifled   and  hurried 


TOWARDS  MIDNIGHT.  231 


words  ;  and  the  new  comer,  with  a  handkerchief  bound  upon  his 
head,  and  with  Charlotte,  trembling,  laughi  ig,  weeping,  upon  his 
arm,  marched  into  the  room. 

"  Ho  !  Prince  of  Egypt !  "  cried  Edward,  sitting  grave  and  im- 
movable in  the  borrowed  hat  and  cloak.  "  Was  it  thou  in  the 
carriage?  Carriages  are  of  the  earth,  earthy.  Railroads  are 
intellectual ;  but  when  spiritual  laws  are  understood,  men  will 
navigate  the  air.  Meanwhile,  majesty  creeps." 

"  'T  was  a  pretty  trick  you  played  me  !  "  exclaimed  Hector. 

"Her  majesty's  faith  was  tested,  and  she  proved  herself  worthy. 
The  Seven  Wise  Men  have  been  discoursing." 

"  The  Seven  Wise  Men  are  dead,"  said  Hector ;  "  and  dead 
men,  to  be  consistent,  should  speak  only  the  dead  languages.  Rec- 
oncile that ! " 

"  There 's  a  wisdom  that  disdains  logic ;  and  we  know  more  than 
we  understand.  My  feet  are  ice ;  but  my  head  is  thawed ;  for 
the  moon  came  down  and  kissed  me  with  her  fiery  lips.  —  If  ever 
I  marry,"  —  Edward's  manner  changed  to  airy  lightness,  —  "  'tia 
ihe  moon  shall  be  my  bride  !  for  she  is  lovely  and  lonely ;  and  so 
she  has  told  me  many  a  night ;  and  I  reach  out  my  hand,  and  pat 
her  cheek.  She  smiles !  I  love  the  moon,  and  she  loves  me ! 
For  nine  days,  I  was  Lord  Bacon  ;  since  then,  I  am  Shakspeare, 
and  my  moods  are  poetical.  What  do  you  think  ?  " 

"  I  think,"  said  Hector,  "you  are  no  great  Shaks." 

"  The  stars  shall  come  to  the  wedding.  One  bright-eyed  little  fel- 
low winked  at  me  to-night,  —  he  knows! — But  —  "  in  a  hoarse 
whisper  —  "I  '11  be  married  in  HELL  !  No  cold  feet  there  !  and 
your  majesty  shall  grace  the  nuptials.  Satan  reigns ;  but  he  's  on 
a  visit  to  the  grogshops,  and  we  '11  use  his  imps  for  camp-stools." 

"  When  may  we  expect  the  ceremony  ?  " 

"  When  the  world  is  righted.  At  present,  it 's  up.-ide  down. 
The  coachman  is  harnessed,  and  the  horses  ride  and  drive.  Ne- 
cessity has  got  the  whip,  and  even  Genius  must  skip.  The 
soul  is  servant  to  a  trade,  and  worships  what  his  hands  have, 
made.  The  mastiff  gravely  sits  at  table ;  the  farmer  watches 
barn  and  stable.  The  mule  is  mounted  on  the  man.  The  misera- 
b.c  African  ?s  tyrant  o'er  the  Southern  master.  The  proud  flock 


32  TOWARDS   MIDNIGHT. 


jads  the  abject  pastor ;  the  wily  shepherd  cheats  the  sheep.  Many 
)w  who  never  reap,  i  mny  reap  who  never  sow ;  the  devil  laughs , 
rid  so  we  go  !  Heigh-ho  !  " 

"  Be  calm,"  Hector  said  to  Charlotte  and  Mrs.  Longman,  "  and 
i  a  little  while  he  will  become  so.  That 's  a  bad  state  of  affairs 
ou  describe." 

"  Good  is  at  the  heart  of  all  things ;  evil  is  the  shuck.  The 
•ue  commandment  is  not,  'Shun  evil,'  but  '  Love  the  good  ; '  then 
nl  shall  go  from  you  by  the  law  of  magnetic  repulsion.  Evil 
iih  good  hath  close  connection,  and  vice  is  virtue's  imperfection  ; 
esire  is  the'  root  of  love ;  and  sinning,  piety's  germinal  begin- 
ing !  In  Sheba,  all  philosophy  shall  be  promulgated  by  the 
rime  minister;  and  it  shall  be  taught  in  rhymes,  Shakspeare 
jspiring.  If  there  is  any  problem  to  solve,  propose  it." 

«'  One  thing,"  observed  Hector  :  "  with  so  many  people  to  slecjj 
>r,  I  don't  see  how  you  can  afford  to  sit  up  so  late.  I  've  no 
Ejection  to  your  stealing  my  beaver ;  but  don't  rob  Shakspearo 
f  his  nap.  The  wise  men  grow  drowsy  ;  and  it 's  my  opinion 
ou  'd  better  go  to  bed." 

"  The  counsel  is  salutary  ;  though  I  yield,"  said  Edward,  gra- 
^ously,  "  not  to  the  man,  but  to  the  prince." 

"  Will  you  come,  then  ?  "  asked  Mrs.  Longman. 

"  Sweet  Sal,  you  are  irresist'ble  !  "  Edward  adjusted  the  cloak 
)  the  shoulders  of  a  plaster  Byron  in  the  corner,  placing  the  hat 
pon  the  summit.  "I  was  naked,  and  you  clothed  me,"  turning 
)  Hector;  "therefore,  you  shall  hold  high  rank  in  our  kingdom, 
•ut  do  not  flatter  her  majesty,  for  that  puts  coldness  between  us. 
'our  coming  has  brought  trouble  ;  and  we  are  not  what  we  were, 
leigh-ho  !  and  I  can't  but  grieve,  the  good  old  days  of  Adam  and 
f  Eve  !  The  words  may  seem  puerile,  but  there  's  meaning  con- 
:ialcd.  Adam  was  the  first  man,  Eve  was  the  t'  other  ;  Cain  was 

wicked  man,  'ca'se  he  killed  his  brother !  Crack  the  nut,  and 
10  meat  is  palpable." 

"  Well,  good-night !  " 

"  Bear  witness  !  "  said  Edward,  solemnly.  '•  You  are  three, — 
it,  tat,  to,  three  in  a  row !  And  I  do  here  declare  and  affirm 
cfore  you,  that,  all  envy  aside,  I  bid  hor  majesty  a  fair  good- 


TOWARDS   MIDNIGHT.  233 


night,  and  peaceful  dreams  and  slumbers  light !  I  maki.  my 
bow,  as  the  oak  said ;  I  take  leave  of  you,  answered  the  wino, 
with  a  whisk ;  and  so  the  centre  of  the  universe  withdraws." 

With  a  profound  reverence,  he  went  backwards  out  of  the  room; 
but,  appearing  to  consider  something  still  required  to  render  his 
exit  impressive,  he  returned,  and,  putting  his  head  in  at  the  door, 
said,  "  Peep-bo  !  "  with  a  cunning  leer,  designed,  undoubtedly,  as 
the  most  effective  diplomatic  stroke  of  the  evening. 

"  What  a  fright  I  have  had  !  "  said  Charlotte.  "  How  did  he 
get  your  hat  and  cloak  ?  " 

"  I  loaned  them  to  him.  He  came  after  us,  bareheaded,  and 
thinly  clad ;  I  was  afraid  that,  in  his  feeble  state,  he  would  suffer 
from  the  cold  ;  and,  as  my  blood  was  up,  I  could  very  well  dispense 
with  the  extra  clothing.  I  advised  him  to  keep  near  me ;  but  the 
temptation  to  play  fantastic  tricks  in  my  garments  was,  it  seems, 
too  great  to  be  resisted." 

"  And  Robert  ?  " 

"  0,  humanity  !  "  exclaimed  Hector  ;  "  thou  art  a  riddle  !  " 

"  You  did  not  quarrel  ?  " 

"  No  ;  he  acknowledged  his  wrongs,  and  made  the  most  solemn 
promises  for  the  future." 

"  O,  Hector !  how  could  you  bring  him  to  that  point  ?  " 

"  It  was  not  I,  but  the  truth.  But  do  not  count  too  much  upon 
his  promises.  The  evil  spirit  in  him,  though  humbled,  is  not 
killed.  He  will  not  trouble  us  soon,  however,  I  think  ;  he  knows 
whom  he  has  to  deal  with.  He  is  engaging  in  speculations  with 
Mr.  Sperkley,  and  has  pledged  himself  not  to  go  back  to  Hunters- 
ford.  So  there  remains  nothing  to  hinder  your  return  with  mo 
to-morrow." 

"  But  the  danger,  —  should  he  choose  to  take  revenge  !  Here, 
I  am  safe  —  " 

"  And  there  you  will  be  safe ;  for  a  time,  at  least.  My  mother 
is  dying  for  you  ;  I  will  leave  you  with  her,  and  go  at  once  to 
forestall  all  danger,  by  striking  at  the  very  root  of  his  power." 

"  0,  that  will  be  too  much  to  do  for  me  !  " 

"  I  cannot  do  too  much  for  you,  Charlotte.  Your  peace  and  hap- 
piness arc  the  jewels  of  my  life.  If  money  and  time  can  purchase 
20* 


234  TOWARDS   MIDNIGUT. 


them,  I  will  account  them  cheap.  Were  it  not  for  my  mothei ,  1 
would  not  ask  you  to  return.  But  we  must  go  to  her  ;  and  while 
she  lives,  there  we  must  live,  before  the  world,  free  from  all  ap- 
prehension of  evil,  and  in  the  face  of  prejudice." 

An  almost  fearful  sense  of  happiness  suffused  Charlotte's  entire 
being.  Could  it  be  real  ?  Would  she  not  soon  awake,  and  weep 
for  her  vanished  dreams  ? 

"  But,  even  if  this  should  be,  could  not  the  affair  be  accom- 
plished without  a  journey  ?  " 

"  Possibly.  But  I  should  tremble  to  intrust  so  sacred  a  busi- 
ness to  any  indifferent  person." 

"  And  your  mother,"  said  Charlotte,  —  "  we  owe  it  to  her,  — 
to  seek  her  sympathy  and  counsel.  Go  to  her ;  tell  her  all ; 
keep  nothing  back ;  then,  if  she  permits  it,  if  she  desires  it,  I  will 
return ! " 


XXVI. 

MOTHER   AND    SON. 

HECTOK'S  absence,  the  loss  .of  Charlotte,  and  manifold  imnof 
troubles  of  a  domestic  nature,  had  produced  their  effect  upon  Mrs. 
Dunbury.  Her  old  physician  had  been  recalled  ;  solemn  medical 
attendance  filled  the  place  of  the  spiritual  stimulus  for  which  her 
spirit  famished  ;  and  prescriptions  became  the  order  of  the  day  — 
and  night. 

It  was  difficult  to  have  a  "  girl."  Bridget's  strong  arms  could 
embrace  the  head  and  front  of  the  household  work,  but  a  gentler 
hand  and  lighter  foot  than  hers  were  required  in  the  invalid's 
chamber.  Bertha  Wing  was  recently  married,  and  had  a  house- 
hold of  her  own  to  engage  her  cares.  Mr.  Fosdick's  daughters 
might  possibly  have  been  had,  but  Mrs.  Dunbury  preferred  any 
other  attendance.  As  a  last  resort,  Phoebe  Jackwood  was  sent 
for,  who  could  come  over  "for  a  few  days,"  she  said,  "just  for 
accommodation."  Phoebe  came  accordingly.  It  was  a  day  or 
two  before  Hector's  unexpected  return  ;  and  his  sudden  departure 
for  Canada  had  left  her  once  more  alone  with  his  mother. 

The  novelty  and  importance  of  the  mission  pleased  Phoebe's 
girlish  heart,  and  she  exerted  herself  to  fulfil  it  to  the  invalid's 
comfort  and  satisfaction.  Her  efforts  were  well  appreciated ; 
Mrs.  Dunbury  was  grateful ;  but  Phoebe's  touch,  Phoebe's  step, 
Phoebe's  voice,  were  not  the  touch,  the  step,  the  voice,  she  loved. 
She  pined  for  Charlotte.  Hector  had  become  almost  a  secondary 
consideration.  Her  experience  with  friends  of  her  own  sex  had 
all  her  life  been  unsatisfactory.  Never  until  the  past  summer 
had  she  known  a  woman's  heart  that  drew  out  all  her  symp.  *hi«s. 
Perhaps  she  loved  Charlotte  through  her  son ;  but,  whatever  the 


236  MOTHER   AND   SON. 


influence,  j*he  ba.l  found  in  her  a  charm  which  she  had  found  in 
no  other,  and  which  now  arose  fragrant  in  her  memory,  until  to 
peruse  it,  breathe  it  again,  became  the  desire  and  longing  of 
her  life. 

Hector  had  been  two  days  absent.  On  the  afternoon  of  the  third 
day,  Corny  put  his  head  in  at  the  door. 

"  There  's  someb'dy  comin'  up  the  road,  Mrs.  Dunb'ry.  I  guess 
it 's  Hector." 

"  0,  Phoebe,  run  and  see  !  " 

Phoebe  ran  ;  Phoebe  returned,  joyous. 

"It  is  Hector !     I  know  his  cloak  !  " 

"  Is  she  with  him  ?  " 

"  There  's  somebody  with  him.  If  it 's  Charlotte,  she  's  got  a 
new  bonnet.  They  're  in  Mr.  Simpkins's  wagon ;  he  's  brought 
'em  over  from  the  railroad.  It  is  Charlotte  !  "  cried  Phoebe,  at 
the  window.  "  No,  it  an't,  either  !  It  may  be,  though,  —  she  's 
behind  the  driver,  and  I  can't  see." 

A  minute  later,  Hector's  foot  was  on  the  floor ;  Hector's  arms 
supported  the  invalid,  as  she  arose  from  her  pillow. 

"  And  Charlotte  ?  " 

"  Charlotte  is  safe  and  well." 

"  The  new  bonnet  was  Ann  Carter  ! "  exclaimed  Phoebe,  dis- 
appointed. 

"  Good  Phoebe,"  said  Hector,  "  I  want  to  talk  with  my  mother 
a  little  while  ;  will  you  let  me  ?  " 

"  The  doctor  says  she  is  to  be  kept  very  quiet,"  replied  the  wise 
Phoebe. 

"  0,  I  '11  look  to  that !  And  will  you  be  so  kind  as  to  take 
away,  for  a  few  minutes,  the  charm  of  your  presence,  which  will 
be  all  the  fresher  and  sweeter,  when  you  again  favor  us  with 
it  ?  " 

Phoebe,  with  exquisite  simplicity  :  "  Do  you  mean  you  would 
l:kc  to  have  me  leave  the  room  ?  0,  I  '11  do  that !  Why  did  n't 
}!ou  say  so  ?  Mrs.  Dunbury  is  to  take  two  table-spoonfuls  of  that 
in  the  bottle  —  " 

"  T  '11  attend,  to  the  bottle  ;  "  and,  following  Phoebe  to  the  door 
I  lector  locked  it  after  her. 


MOTHER    AND    SON.  237 


"  Ah,  mother  !  "  then  said  he,  seating  himself  by  the 'bed,  "  this 
bridge  of  life  we  tread  upon  is  a  bridge  of  sighs  !  But  it  is  worth 
the  crossing,  is  it  not  ?  It  is  through  suffering  that  the  depths  of 
our  nature  are  stirred,  and  existence  made  great  and  glorious." 

"  0,  yes,  yes  !  "  responded  the  invalid,  "  But  why  do  you  tell 
me  this  ?  " 

"  By  way  of  preamble,  mother.  A  confession  and  a  history 
follow." 

"  And  —  Charlotte  ?  " 

"  Be  patient ;  you  shall  hear  of  her ;  for  I  cannot  show  you  my 
heart,  without  revealing  her  image." 

"  I  am  glad  !  " 

"  Before  I  have  finished,  perhaps  you  will  be  sorry  !  " 

He  scarce  knew  how  to  proceed.  His  mother  was  too  feeble  to 
endure  a  sudden  shock.  He  told  of  the  love  and  happiness  which 
he  thought  might  be  his ;  and  when  all  her  sympathies  were  stirred, 
and  joy  and  faith  made  her  strong,  he  turned  and  denounced 
those  false  estimates  of  society,  by  which  love  and  happiness  are 
so  often  frustrated.  She  assented  to  all  he  said. 

"  But,  consider  !  "  he  cried  ;  "  of  two  persons  who  love  thus 
deeply,  one  may  be  descended  from  princes,  from  Jove  himself, 
while  the  other  is  the  child  of  misery  and  shame  !  " 

"  We  must  not  forget  that  Christ  was  born  in  a  manger," 
breathed  the  invalid. 

"  Glorious  thought !  Dear  mother,  when  you  speak  that  sacred 
name,  my  whole  being  is  infused  with  ineffable  emotion  !  One 
night,  in  my  absence  from  you  and  Charlotte,  one  strange,  memor- 
able night,  when  I  lay  thinking  of  the  world,  of  life,  a  great  power 
came  upon  me ;  an  overshadowing,  an  agony,  and  a  light ;  then  to 
my  inner  sense  a  universe  was  opened,  in  the  midst  of  which  I  saw 
humanity  transfigured,  —  the  image  of  the  Father  shining  through 
the  Son,  and  the  dove  of  the  Spirit  flying  to  mankind  from  his 
bosom  of  love.  In  the  light  that  dawned  upon  me  then,  I  have 
seen  all  (he  circumstances  of  birth,  of  wealth,  of  station,  as  utterly 
insignificant  to  the  true  being  and  majesty  of  the  soul.  0,  yes, 
Christ,  whom  now  all  the  enlightened  world  adores,  in  costly  tem- 
ples, was  born  in  a  manger  ;  and  the  instrument  of  his  ignomin- 


238  MOTHER   AND   SON. 


ious  death  has  become  the  universal  symbol  of  the  world's  salva- 
tiqn  !  If  we  believe  in  him,  how  can  we  at  the  same  time  rest  our 
faith  upon  the  externals  of  society  ?  Yet  let  us  not  forget  that  we 
are  considering  vital  truths,  and  that  we  have  nothing  to  do  with 
fine  theories,  that  cannot  be  woven  into  our  lives." 

"  I  know,  my  son,  we  are  uttering  social  heresies,  but  let  the 
truth  be  spoken ;  then,  if  we  have  strength  and  courage,  let  us 
live  it !  " 

"  Mother,  for  one  born  and  bred  in  English  society,  where  the 
prejudice  of  clan  and  caste  is  as  potent  as  in  India,  you  talk  mar- 
vellously !  It  is  well  for  you  to  have  suffered  from  change  of 
fortune,  from  privation  and  humiliation,  from  mental  and  bodily 
anguish,  since  every  tear  your  eyes  have  shed  has  fallen  a  pearl 
of  wisdom  into  your  lap  !  Imagine,  now,  that  I  have  a  dear,  sweet 
flower ;  I  bring  it  to  you ;  shall  we  stop  to  consider  in  what  soil  it 
sprung,  before  enjoying  its  fragrance  and  beauty  ?  " 

"  0,  no  ;  but  love  it  for  its  own  sake,  for  what  it  is  !  " 

"  Nobly  answered  !  "  exclaimed  Hector.  "  It  may  be  found 
among  wretched  weeds ;  it  may  have  drank  poisonous  dews ;  ita 
Btalk  may  have  been  broken,  and  its  leaves  trodden  under  rudo 
and  swinish  feet.  Am  I  to  cast  it  from  me  ?  Or  am  I  to  cherish 
it  all  the  more  choicely,  for  that  innate  purity,  which  none  of  thoso 
influences  could  destroy  ?  " 

"  You  are  to  cherish  it,  my  son,  with  all  your  heart  and  soul ! ' 

Hector  bent  down,  and  as  he  kissed  his  mother  she  felt  a  warm 
tear  fall  upon  her  cheek. 

"  But,  if  the  possession  of  this  flower  brings  upon  me  the  shame 
of  the  world,  and  the  hatred  and  persecution  of  those  who  broke 
its  stalk  and  bruised  its  leaves,  —  tell  me,  what  then  ?  " 

"  0,  my  son,  I  tremble  !  —  but  be  you  brave,  and  noble,  and 
strong ! " 

"  And  if  that  flower  were  —  Charlotte  ?  " 

No  response  ;  but  the  invalid  wept,  and,  straining  Hector  to  her 
bosom,  responded,  fervently, 

"  Then  God  help  you  and  her  !  " 


XXYIL 

THE   FOREST   ROAD. 

ON  the  edge  of  the  town  of  Huntersford  was  a  railway-station, 
consisting  simply  of  a  platform  of  hemlock-boards,  erected  upon 
a  sand-hill,  in  a  lonely  and  barren  spot,  which  the  corporation  had 
not  seen  fit  to  decorate  with  a  "  depot." 

One  cold  and  windy  afternoon,  late  in  November  j  a  long,  dark 
train  of  cars  flew  smoking  and  whizzing  to  the  foot  of  the  platform, 
and  stopped.  Two  passengers  were  landed,  with  their  baggage, 
and,  once  more  the  mighty  monster  of  steam  twanging  his  terrible 
cross-bow,  the  arrowy  train  sped  on,  thundering  with  faint  and 
fainter  echoes  among  the  hills.  The  two  passengers  looked  around 
in  astonishment.  A  moment  since  they  were  in  the  midst  of  a 
little,  crowded  world  of  human  life.  Now  they  stood  upon  a 
solitary  hill,  alone ;  the  train  out  of  sight ;  not  a  human  being 
visible ;  no  habitation  near ;  but  all  around  the  earth  looked 
desolate  and  cold,  under  its  crust  of  snow. 

"  This  rather  takes  one's  breath  away  !  Four  miles  from  home, 
and  no  vehicle  at  hand  !  It  is  a  cold  welcome  I  have  prepared 
for  you,  my  poor  girl  —  is  it  not  ?  " 

"  I  am  content  as  long  as  you  are  with  me,"  —  and  a  smile  of 
trustful  affection  played,  like  sunshine,  over  the  speaker's  face. 
"But  isn't  there  some  mistake?  Have  we  stopped  at  the  right 
place  ?  " 

"  It 's  the  right  place,  —  but  there  is  a  blunder  somewhere.  I 
think  Corny  must  have  been  sent  for  us  ;  and  if  he  were  told  to 
-oms  to  this  station,  he  would'  be  sure  to  find  some  other.  What 
shall  we  do  ?  —  wait  here,  or  walk  ?  " 

Hector  looked  all  around.    The  prospect  was  discouraging.    No 


240  •  THE   FOREST   ROAD. 


shelter,  no  means  of  conveyance,  and  no  path  in  the  direction  they 
were  to  travel,  but  a  rough  wagon-track  cut  through  the  crusty 
snow.  Added  to  this,  night  was  setting  in,  and  the  place  was 
disagreeably  suggestive  of  wolves. 

"  I  must  confess  myself,  for  once  in  my  life,  completely  puzzled  ! 
If  we  wait  here,  there  is  a  fine  prospect  of  freezing.  If  we  walk 
on,  we  may  miss  the  wagon,  should  it  come  by  the  other  road.  I 
was  never  more  fully  persuaded  that  it  is  my  duty  to  be  vexed  !  " 

"  That  will  be  a  good  plan,"  replied  Charlotte,  "  if  it  will  bring 
the  wagon." 

"  It  is  growing  dark  very  fast,"  said  Hector.  "  I  think,  before 
it  is  too  late,  I  will  make  an  excursion  into  the  hollow,  and  see 
what  I  can  discover." 

"  Let  me  go  with  you  !  " 

"  Are  you  afraid  to  stay  alone  ?  " 

"  No,  not  afraid  ;  but  let  me  go  with  you." 

"  Dear  child,  the  road  will  be  rough  for  these  tender  feet  of 
yours ;  but  I  wil-  not  leave  you  for  a  moment.  We  will  stay  or 
go  together." 

Until  now  Charlotte  had  managed  to  wear  a  cheerful  aspect ; 
but  when  Hector,  talking  to  her  so  kindly  and  affectionately,  made 
her  sit  down  upon  a  piece  of  baggage,  and  warmed  her  cold  feet 
in  his  hands,  she  could  no  longer  repress  her  tears. 

"  Forgive  me  !  " 

"  Forgive  you,  indeed  !  You  have  a  right  to  cry,"  said  Hector, 
looking  up  into  her  face. 

"  It  is  as  much  for  happiness  as  for  anything  else,"  replied 
Charlotte,  through  her  tears.  "  You  are  so  good  to  me  !  " 

"  So  good  !  when  I  have  brought  you  out  here  in  the  'wilderness, 
as  if  to  perish  !  This,  too,  at  a  time  when  your  path  should 
be  all  strewn  with  flowers  !  " 

"  It  is  nothing,  since  you  are  with  me  !  But,  0,  Hector  !  I 
have  all  along  seen  a  dark  shadow  before  me,  in  the  direction  of 
Huntersford." 

"  A  shadow  ?  how  ?  " 

"  A  foreboding  of  something  to  happen  to  us  both.     0,  it  ia 


THE   FOREST   ROAD.  241 


not  this,  — but  this  seems  a  forerunner  of  disappointments  sent  to 
warn  us.     You  think  me  weak,  I  know." 

"  Not  weak,  brave  girl !  if,  when  the  disappointments  come,  you 
are  strong  to  bear  them." 

"With  you  to  assure  me  of  this,  how  can  I  be  unhappy?" 
responded  Charlotte,  with  a  beaming  look. 

They  left  the  baggage  on  the  platform,  and  walked  to  the  foot 
of  the  acclivity.  Beyond  was  the  bed  of  Wild  River,  which  flowed 
through  chasms  and  gorges  among  the  hills.  The  road  they  were 
to  follow  led  along  its  banks,  on  the  borders  of  an  old  forest,  whose 
deep  silence  was  broken  only  by  the  voice  of  the  pouring  wateis. 
Wagons  had  passed  when  the  earth  was  so  ft;  it  was  now  frozen, 
and  the  way  appeared  toothed  with  irregular,  sharp  clods  of  ice. 
It  was  painful  for  Charlotte  to  proceed  ;  but,  fortunately,  the 
distance  was  not  long  through  the  the  woods,  and  on  the  other 
side  was  a  small  village,  where  a  conveyance  could  be  procured. 
Hector  cheered  his  companion  with  this  prospect ;  but  before  they 
had  gone  far  they  heard  the  sound  of  a  wagon.  Then  somebody 
cracked  a  whip  in  the  woods,  and  said,  "  Go  'long  !  "  The  voice 
was  unmistakable. 

"  Mr.  Jackwood  !  " 

"  Hello  !  "  cried  the  farmer,  pulling  up  his  horse.  "  That  you, 
Hector  Dunbury?  Ye  got  Cha'lotte  Woods  with  ye,  too,  han't 
ye  ?  How  d'e  du,  Cha'lotte  ?  " 

Charlotte  submitted  her  hand  to  the  hearty  grasp  of  the  farmer, 
who  got  out  of  his  wagon  to  greet  her. 

"  I  'in  glad  enough  to  see  ye  agin !  Got  tired  o'  waitin', 
did  n't  ye  ?  I  was  jes'  goin'  over  to  the  railroad  arter  ye.  I  ca'- 
c'lated  I  was  goin'  to  be  a  leetle  late." 

"  Where  is  father  ?  "  asked  Hector. 

"  0 !  your  father  —  he  's  met  with  a  bit  of  an  accident  to  day. 
I  'm  sorry  to  say." 

"  An  accident !  " 

"  P'raps  you  'd  better  not  git  in  till  I  turn  about,"  suggested 
Mr.  Jackwood.     "  'T  an't  a  very  comf'table  place  to  turn  in  , 
shall  haf  to  cramp  and  back." 
21 


242  THE   FOREST   ROAD. 


He  stepped  to  the  horse's  head,  and,  holding  the  bridle  with 
both  handy,  commenced  turning  very  slowly  and  carefully. 

"  What  has  happened  at  home  ?  "  demanded  Hector. 

"  Look  an'  see  if  I  'm  baekiu'  aginst  that  'ere  stump,"  cried 
the  farmer.  "  I  thought  I  should  jes'  graze  it.  If  it 's  in  the 
way,  sing  out." 

"  You  are  all  right.  Start  up  a  little  now,"  said  Hector. 
"  Hold  !  Come,  Charlotte." 

They  got  up  into  the  wagon  ;  and  Mr.  Jackwood,  placing  a 
board,  with  a  woolly  sheep-skin  upon  it,  across  the  box  before 
them,  as  a  seat  for  himself,  gathered  up  his  reins  and  whip,  and 
cLove  back  through  the  woods. 

"  That 's  a  terrible  awk'ard  place  to  stop  at,  where  you  come," 
—  turning  his  head  so  as  to  throw  his  voice  behind  him,  and  at  the 
same  time  to  keep  an  eye  on  his  horse.  "  Unless  ye  have  a 
team  to  meet  ye,  ye  might  as  well  be  set  down  in  Egypt.  I  '11 
git  ye  home  quick  as  I  can,  then  go  back  arter  yer  baggage." 

Hector  interrupted  him,  to  ask  again  about  the  accident. 

"  Wai,"  said  Mr.  Jackwood.  "  I  thought  best  to  let  your 
narves  git  settled  a  .leetle  mite,  'fore  I  told  ye.  It 's  as  well  as 
any  way  to  take  sich  things  easy-like,  ye  know.  Yer  father  was 
goin'  ever  to  East  Huntcrsford  with  a  load  o'  grain  ;  I  guess 
't  was  'bout  'levon  o'clock  when  he  drove  by  my  house ;  me  and 
Bim'lech  was  hauliu'  a  leetle  jag  o'  wood  to  the  door,  an'  I  should 
judge  it  could  n't  ben  much  arter  'leven,  if  't  was  at  all.  I  ruther 
thought  Mr.  Dunbury  was  takiu'  his  produce  over  to  the  East,  so 
I  hailed  him ;  for  I  'd  heerd  him  say  a  man  there  had  offered 
* ome  three  cents  on  a  bushel  more  'n  they  give  in  the  village,  to 
have  it  delivered  at  the  railroad.  He  stopped  to  talk  a  little 
while,  an'  it  struck  me  he  had  on  too  much  of  a  load.  Says  I, 
'  An't  you  'fraid  you  've  got  more  'n  your  team  '11  git  along  'ith  com- 
Pt'bly  ? '  says  T.  He  said  no,  he  guessed  not ;  he  had  jos'  so 
much  grain  to  spare,  an'  he  thought  't  was  better  to  take  it  all  ono 
load,  than  make  two  bites  to  a  cherry.  «  Of  course,'  said  I,  'you 
know  a  good  deal  the  best  about  it,'  says  I ;  '  but,  if  't  was  mine, 
I  should  feel  jest  the  least  mite  ticklish  'bout  that  'ere  off  hoss. 
When  Wing  owned  him,'  pays  I,  '  he  had  a  bad  trick  of  frettin' 


THE    FOREST    ROAD.  243 


when  a  load  troubled  him ;  p'tic'larly  when  he  started  with  't  an 
sometimes,'  says  I,  'he  'd  git  spunky,  and  wouldn't  draw  at  all.' 
Your  father  said  he  'd  broke  him  o'  that  trick,  he  guessed.  '  If 
so,'  says  I,  '  I  should  n't  be  'fraid  of  a  middlin'  kind  o'  load,  like 
that  'ere.  My  team  would  n't  think  nothin'  on  't.'  But  I  noticed, 
when  he  started,  the  off  hoss  acted  kind  o'  ugly  ;  he  jerked,  an 
flinched,  as  though  the  collar  hurt  his  breast,  —  jes'  's  he  use'  to, 
when  Wing  owned  him,  for  all  the  world.  But  I  thought  I 
would  n't  say  nothin'  more,  though  I  'm  sorry  now  I  did  n't ;  for 
it  'pears  Mist'  Dunbury  had  n't  more  'n  got  to  the  railroad  crossin", 
when  the  pesky  beast  made  a  fuss  agin,  an'  balked,  with  the  load 
right  acrost  the  track.  I  never  'd  let  a.team  stop  that  way';  I  'd 
git  'em  off  the  track,  somehow  ;  if  they  would  n't  go  ahead,  I  'd 
made  'em  back,  if  there  was  any  back  to  'em  !  But  prob'bly  Mr. 
Dunbury  didn't  think  o'  that.  Wai,  sir,"  said  Mr.  Jackwood, 
turning  almost  entirely  around,  and  demonstrating  to  his  listeners 
with  his  hands,  "  there  he  was  when  the  cars  come.  The  man  't 
told  me  the  story  see  'em,  an'  yelled  out ;  but  your  father  was 
prob'bly  doin'  his  best,  an'  could  n't  do  no  more,  to  save  the 
nation.  I  asked  the  man,  says  I,  '  Why  did  n't  you  help,'  says  I, 
'instid  o'  standin'  there  an'  hollerin',  when  hollerin'  couldn't  do 
no  good  ? '  says  I.  But  he  said  he  had  a  skittish  hoes  to  hold, 
an'  he  did  n't  dare  to  leave  him  a  minit,  when  the  ingine  was 
in  sight.  I  thought  it  a  kind  o'  milk-an'-water  excuse,  but  I 
did  n't  say  nothiir  ;  the  hoss  was  stole,  an'  there  wan't  no  use 
lockin'  the  barn-door.  Wai,  sir,"  repeated  Mr.  Jackwood,  warm- 
ing as  he  approached  the  catastrophe,  "the  cars  come!  My  — 
informer"  —  he  appeared  to  hesitate  a  little  about  making  use  of 
so  elegant  a  word  —  "  told  me  't  was  the  awfulest  sight  he  <nrer  see. 
He  no  more  expected  to  find  Mist'  Dunbury  alive  than  —  Wai, 
he  'd  no  idee  on  't !  But  the  cars  did  n't  hit  him,  mind  ye.  He 
was  jest  untacklin'  the  team,  to  git  'em  out  o'  the  way,  when  the 
ingine  struck.  He  was  insenseless  when  they  took  him  up,  but 
he  turned  out  to  be  not  half  so  much  hurt  as  everybody  thought 
for.  They  brought  him  home,  this  arternoon,  a.n'  I  guess  he  's 
doin'  as  well  as  could  be  expected.  What  was  queer,  the  cars 
wan't  thrown  off  the  track  ;  they  ripped  right  through  the  wagon,- 


244  THE   FOREST   ROAD. 


like  a  streak  !  The  horses  wan't  hurt,  nuther,  —  strange  to  say 
Mist'  Dunbury  had  got  'em  unhitched  jes'  't  the  minute  the  ingint 
struck.  They  was  too  mad  to  be  scart,  I  imagine,  or  else  they  'd 
a'  started  'ith  the  wagon  when  the  whistle  blowed ;  but  they 
didn't,  an'  when  the  cars  come  up,  they  run  right  agin  the  near- 
est fence,  an'  stopped.  If 't  had  been  my  team,  they  'd  stripped 
their  harnesses  and  gone  to  Jericho.  On  the  hull,  it  seems  a 
providential  escape,  an'  we  've  every  reason  to  (eel  thankful 
't  wan't  no  wus,"  he  added,  by  way  of  moral ;  "  though,  I  mus 
say,  't  was  a  hard  rub  for  the  wagon,  an'  it  made  dre'ful  bad  work 
with  the  grain  !  " 


XXVIII. 

THE  FACE   AT   THE   WINDOW. 

CHARLOTTE  could  not  have  returned  to  her  old  home  under  more 
disheartening  circumstances.  It  was  like  entering  a  hospital. 
Mr.  Dunbury  lay  groaning  with  his  injuries,  and  the  shock  of  the 
accident  had  thrown  his  feeble  and  fast-failing  wife  into  a  low  and 
perilous  state. 

But  Charlotte  bore  up  bravely,  and  her  cheerful  demeanor 
carried  an  energizing  inQuence  to  the  spirit  of  her  old  friend. 

"  My  dear  child,"  said  the  invalid  to  her,  one  d;>y,  with  grateful 
emotion,  "how  shall  I  ever  repay  you  for  all  your  sacrifices?" 

"  0 !  if  you  could  only  know  how  richly  I  feel  repaid  !  These 
are  the  sweetest  and  happiest  days  of  my  whole  life !  " 

The  invalid  could  not  doubt'it.  Hector  was  at  Charlotte's  side ; 
and  day  and  night,  with  enduring  love  and  patience,  hand  in  hand 
they  administered  to  the  wants  of  the  sufferers.  It  mattered  not 
how  severe  their  duties  were ;  the  exchange  of  a  look  or  word,  as 
they  met  for  an  instant,  in  passing  from  room  to  room,  or  at  the 
bedside  of  either  of  the  patients,  compensated  for  all. 

"0,  Charlotte!"  Hector  would  say,  with  a  smile  of  ineffable 
meaning ;  and  no  answer  so  cheering  and  sweet  as  the  glance  of 
her  lustrous  eyes.  Then  there  were  the  watches  of  the  night, 
when  sleep  and  quiet  reigned,  and  they  could  steal  away  from 
their  almost  incessant  cares,  and  sit  together  undisturbed,  con- 
versing low,  or  keeping  hallowed  silence,  in  the  still  hours. 

One  of  these  memorable  nights  found  them  in  Mrs.  Dunbury's 

room.     She  was  sleeping  in  the  mild  shade  of  the  bed-curtains, 

while  a  profound   and   measured  breathing,  issuing   through   the 

open  door  of  the  adjoining  sick  chamber,  marked  Mr.  Dunbury'a 

21* 


246  THE  FACE  AT  THE  WINDOW. 


heavy  slumbers.  All  was  quiet ;  Charlotte,  wearied  with  the  toils 
of  the  day,  reclined  upon  the  lounge ;  and  Hector  sat  near,  shad- 
ing her  eyes  from  the  light.  Suddenly  he  observed  a  slight  start, 
and  a  ceasation  of  her  breath. 

"  You  were  dreaming,"  he  said,  leaning  over  her. 

It  was  some  seconds  before  she  spoke.  —  "Did  you  see  that 
face?  " 

"A  face?     Where?" 

"  At  the  window.     Do  not  stir ;  it  may  come  again/' 

They  waited  several  minutes.  Both  watched,  but  saw  noth- 
ing. "  Are  you  sure  there  was  a  face  ?  " 

"  I  saw  it  plainly!  It  peered  in  between  the  curtains.  Bat 
it  vanished." 

"  Do  not  be  alarmed,"  said  Hector ;  for  Charlotte  trembled. 

"  I  am  not ;  but  it  gave  me  a  start !  There  is  scarcely  any- 
thing more  frightful  than  such  an  apparition  at  a  window  by 
night.  The  darkness  and  mystery  — "  Another  tremor,  and 
Charlotte's  hand  pressed  HectorVariu. 

"  Again  ?  "  he  whispered. 

"  It  passed  by  the  casement !  " 

"  I  was  looking,  but  saw  nothing." 

"  The  lamp  shines  in  your  eyes,"  said  Charlotte.  "  I  saw  the 
outline  distinctly." 

"  Sit  still,"  —  and  Hector  arose  softly.  "  I  will  try  what  dis- 
coveries I  can  make." 

"  You  will  not  leave  the  house  ?  " 

"  I  do  not  know." 

He  left  his  lamp  in  the  kitchen,  and,  muffling  himself  in  his 
cloak,  went  silently  from  the  house.  The  heavens  were  starless; 
but  the  snow  upon  the  ground  gave  a  faint  glimmer  to  the  night. 
Hector  moved  cautiously  towards  the  front  yard,  watching  and 
listening.  He  heard  nothing,  saw  no  living  object.  He  advanced 
to  the  trees,  and,  passing  through  the  open  gate,  looked  up  and 
down  the  road.  No  discovery.  After  some  minutes,  he  gave  up 
the  search ;  but,  as  he  turned  to  retrace  his  steps,  he  perceived  a 
movement  by  the  trunk  of  one  of  the  large  trees.  He  rushed  to 
the  spot,  and  a  man  stepped  out  before  him.  Hector  was  no  cow- 


TUB    FACE    AT    THE    WINDOW.  247 


ard ;  but,  it  must  be  confessed,  the  promptness  with  which  he  was 
met  gave  his  blood  a  start. 

"  Good-evening,  sir,"  said  he.  The  figure  stood  silent  and  mo- 
tionless. "  I  said  good-evening.  It  is  politeness  to  return  a  sal- 
utation. What  is  your  business  here?  " 

The  same  silence  and  mystery.  A  deep  determination  swelled 
in  Hector's  tones.  "  Though  you  have  no  tongue,  you  have,  at 
least,  a  face!  If  I  cannot  hear  the  one,  I'll  see  the  other!" 
Still  no  answer ;  and  Hector  laid  his  hand  upon  the  figure's  arm. 
"Will  you  speak?  If  not  —  there  is  the  house,  and  you  shall 
march  into  it !  You  '11  find  it  is  no  jest !  " 

His  grasp  tightened  ;  but  at  the  instant  he  was  shaken  off,  and 
the  man  sprang  upon  him.  He  was  not  unprepared,  but  the 
suddenness  of  the  onset  caused  him  to  recoil.  As  he  did  so,, 
with  a  dexterous  movement  he  cast  off  his  cloak,  and  flung  it, 
outspread,  full  into  the  face  of  his  antagonist;  then,  while  the 
latter  was  beating  it  off,  he  seized  him  by  the  middle,  lifted  him 
clear  from  his  feet,  and  hurled  him  with  all  his  might  upon  the 
ground. 

The  snow  was  not  deep;  yet  it  was  sufficient  to  break  the 
force  of  the  fall.  And  now  the  cloak,  which  had  previously  em- 
barrassed the  assailant,  did  him  excellent  service.  While  he  fell 
upon  one  part  of  it,  he  managed  to  twist  the  opposite  corner 
about  Hector's  face  and  chest.  The  struggle  was  violent.  Both 
regained  their  feet  together ;  and  the  assailant,  literally  tearing 
Limself  from  Hector's  embrace,  fled  with  all  speed  down  the  road. 
Hector  did  not  pursue,  but,  gathering  up  his  cloak,  returned  to 
the  house.  At  the  door  he  was  met  by  the  alarmed  and  eager 
Charlotte.  She  suppressed  a  cry  of  pain.  His  face  was  streaked 
with  blood. 

"  I  cannot  be  much  hurt,"  said  he,  "  since  I  did  not  know  it.  I 
received  a  slight  brush  in  carrying  away  this  trophy." 

"What  is  it?" 

"  It  hath  the  appearance  of  a  coat-button,  with  a  strip  of  cloth 
attached,  like  unto  a  comet  wilh  a  tail.  It  belongs  to  the  face 
you  saw  at  the  window.  You  look  frightened ;  but  there  's  no 
occasion." 


248          THE  FACE  AT  THE  WINDOW. 


"Who  was  it?" 

"  You  can  guess  as  well  as  I.  Not  a  word  could  I  force  from 
the  villain ;  and  his  intention  evidently  was,  to  knock  me  down, 
then  make  his  escape.  I  know  of  but  one  man  who  could  have 
any  possible  motive  for  prowling  around  our  windows.  I  imagine 
how  a  jealous  rage  might  prompt  him  to  the  act,  even  with  no 
definite  purpose  in  view." 

"  But  his  promises  —  " 

"  They  would  not  be  the  first  he  has  broken.  However  sincere 
he  may  have  been  in  making  them,  he  is  a  slave  to  passion, 
and  there  is  no  faith  to  be  placed  in  him.  O,"  said  Hector, 
"  had  it  not  been  for  my  father's  accident,  all  danger  from  him 
would  be  by  this  time  at  an  end,  and  you  should  stand  by  my 
side  before  the  world!  —  But  don't  be  troubled.  I  will  know 
to-morrow." 

On  the  following  day,  Hector  made  an  errand  to  the  village, 
but  sought  in  vain  fur  any  clue  of  intelligence  which  might  lead 
to  a  solution  of  the  mystery.  On  his  way  home,  however,  stop- 
ping to  make  some  purchases  at  the  store,  he  encountered  a  poor 
tailor,  who  had  his  shop  in  an  obscure  street  of  the  town. 

"  How  do  you  do,  Peter  ?  " 

"  0,  how  do  you  do  ?  "  said  Peter,  obsequiously.  "  You  are 
ever  so  much  a  stranger  !  " 

"How  is  business,  this  winter?" 

"  0,  not  over  'n  above  bright !  Give  me  a  call.  I  don't  do  a 
very  smashing  business,  but  my  work  is  done  well." 

"  So  I  have  heard,"  replied  Hector ;  "and  the  first  I  have  to  be 
done  in  town  shall  be  given  to  you." 

"  Thank  you  !  "  said  Peter. 

"  You  are  looking  at  some  buttons.  Let  me  help  you  choose 
them.  What  sort  of  a  button  do  you  want  ?  " 

"A  good  over-coat  button,"  said  Peter.  "Something  about 
this  size  and  quality,"  —  showing  an  exact  mate  to  the  trophy 
Hector  had  brought  off  the  night  before. 

"  That 's  a  handsome  button  !  " 

"  It 's  a  good  and  durable  article,"  answered  Peter,  profession- 
al'y  "  I  'vc  an  assortment  of  these ;  but  I  'in  doing  a  job  for  a  fan- 


THE  FACE  AT  THE  WINDOW.  249 


ciful  customer, — he  wants  something  different;  and,  in  consequence 
of  one  being  Jost  from  his  coat,  I  'm  to  change  the  whole  set." 

"  If  I  knew  your  customer,"  said  Hector,  "  I  might  tell  you 
just  what  article  he  would  fancy." 

"  Of  course,"  returned  Peter,  softly,  "  there  '11  be  no  harm  in 
mentioning  it,  though  he  appeared  a  little  sensitive  about  having 
it  known  't  he  'd  come  back  to  town,  or  't  I  was  doing  his  work. 
It 's  Robert  Greenwich." 

"Indeed!"  said  Hector.  "Then  here 'is  just  the  button. 
Give  him  a  set  of  these,  by  all  means !  " 

He  chose  the  device  of  a  serpent  biting  its  own  coils.  Peter 
admired  the  selection,  and  declared  that  he  should  abide  by  it. 

"  He  shall  wear  serpentine  buttons,  and  have  me  to  thank  for 
it !  "  said  Hector  to  himself.  "  Meanwhile,  I  must  take  out  his 
fangs." 

He  visited  a  banking  office,  where  he  had  money  deposited, 
and  procured  a  draft  upon  New  York ;  then  hastened  home  to 
Charlotte.  "  It  is  as  I  feared.  Robert  is  in  town.  But  don't  be 
disturbed.  My  resolution  is  formed." 

"  You  will  go  ?  "  said  Charlotte,  pale  with  anxiety. 

"  Yos  —  at  once.  I  have  delayed  too  long.  Be  brave,  Char- 
lotte !  —  I  must  speak  with  father." 

Mr.  Dunbury  was  sitting  up,  with  his  feet  upon  a  chair,  and 
his  unfortunate  shoulder  in  a  sling,  when  Hector  entered  the 
room.  "  What  orders  have  you  for  me  to-day,  father  ?  " 

"  None,  that  I  know  of."  Mr.  Dunbury's  voice  sounded  like  a 
growl.  Hector  was  not  surprised;  for  he  had  not  heard  him 
speak  pleasantly  since  his  accident. 

"  Is  there  nothing  I  can  do  for  you?  " 

"  No.  I  am  better.  I  can  wait  upon  myself.  It  is  time  I 
was  doing  something.  I  have  been  here  long  enough." 

"  You  could  not  have  chosen  a  better  time,"  said  Hector,  "  for 
there  is  little  to  be  done  on  the  farm ;  scarce  enough  to  keep 
Corny  in  motion.  It  is  as  much  as  you  ought  to  do  to  oversee 
things,  where  you  think  there  is  need.  Could  you  confine  your- 
self to  this,  in  case  I  should  leave  you  for  a  few  days?  " 

"  At  all  events,  I  can  dispense  with  your  services,  if  that  ig 
what  you  wi,-h  ' 


250          TUE  FACE  AT  THE  WINDOW. 


"  You  misunderstand  me,  father.  I  never  did  anything  more 
cheerfully  than  what  I  have  had  to  do  fur  you.  Has  it  appeared 
otherwise  ?  " 

There  was  a  thrill  of  emotion  in  Hector's  voice^  which  softened 
his  parent.  "  I  acknowledge  you  have  shown  me  all  the  kindness 
I  have  deserved.  More,  perhaps ;  for  I  have  not  been  patient , 
I  have  given  you  cause  to  abandon  me," 

"  I  have  had  no  thought  of  abandoning  you  —  no  wish  to  leave 
you  for  a  day.  But  I  have  other  duties  to  perform.  I  should 
have  gone  about  them  within  three  days  of  my  return  from  Can- 
ada, with  Charlotte,  had  it  not  been  for  your  accident.  It  has 
not  been  without  misgivings  that  I  have  neglected  them ;  and  now 
circumstances  render  it  imperative  that  they  should  be  attended 
to,  at  once." 

"  You  do  not  see  fit  to  impart  your  business  to  me." 

"  I  cannot  very  well  do  so  until  my  return ;  because  it  is  not 
altogether  my  own." 

"  Whose,  then  ?  " 

"  So  much  I  can  tell  you,  but  let  it  be  in  confidence;  it  is  Char- 
lotte's ! " 

"  Charlotte's,  —  hem  !  "  muttered  Mr.  Punbury,  with  a  clouded 
brow.  "  I  do  not  understand  Charlotte.  She  came  here  a  ser- 
vant. One  would  think  now  she  was  mistress  of  the  house." 

"  Father,"  replied  Hector,  "  this  is  a  subject  we  will  not  argue. 
You  know  that  my  mother's  welfare  required  that  she  should  be 
here ;  and  it  was  by  your  consent,  if  not  by  your  desire,  that  I 
went  for  her.  She  yielded  to  our  entreaties ;  but  it  was  at  a 
sacrifice  of  peculiar  advantages  her  Canadian  home  afturded ; 
and,  in  return,  I  promised  to  transact  the  personal  business  of 
hers  to  which  I  have  alluded.  I  have  now  to  fulfil  my  promise. 
On  my  return  you  shall  know  everything." 

"  When  do  you  leavo?  " 

"To-morrow;  and  I  may  be  absent  two  or  three  weeks.'"'' 

"Very  well,"  muttered  Mr.  Dunbury. 

His  countenance  showed  a  sullen  discontent  ;  but  he  gave  the 
subject  no  more  words ;  and  it  only  remained  for  Hector  to  make 
preparations  for  his  journey. 


XXIX. 

THE    GREENWICH   FAMILY. 

IN  a  small,  old-fashioned  apartment,  with  a  tall  chest  of  drawers, 
with  brass  handles,  on  one  side,  a  suspended  book-case  on  the  other, 
and  an  ancient  clock,  with  weights  and  pendulum  swinging  almost 
to  the  floor,  in  the  corner,  the  Greenwich  family  might  have  been 
found  assembled,  early  one  winter's  evening.  Near  the  centre  of 
the  room  was  a  table,  at  which  sat  the  squire,  with  spectacles  on 
his  nose,  a  worn  and  venerable  volume  open  before  him,  and  his 
snuff-box  at  his  left  hand.  Behind  him,  in  an  obscure  position, 
sat  the  meek  Mrs.  Greenwich,  knitting.  At  the  end  of  the  table 
was  Etty,  the  genius,  engaged  upon  a  poetical  composition,  her 
large,  high  forehead  shining  like  marble,  as  she  leaned  over  her 
paper  in  the  light.  Last,  not  least,  was  Robert,  in  the  corner 
upposite  the  clock,  with  his  head  on  his  bivast,  his  arms  folded, 
and  his  legs  stretched  out  towards  the  stove. 

"  How  many  varses  have  you  composed,  my  child  ?  "  whispered 
Mrs.  Greenwich,  behind  her  husband's  back. 

"  Five,"  replied  Etty,  with  a  perplexed  look.  "  I  'in  trying  to 
find  a  rhyme  to  crystal ;  then  I  shall  have  six." 

"  I'i.stol,"  suggested  Mrs.  Greenwich. 

"Mrs.  Greenwich!"  said  the  squire,  in  a  grave  tone,  "are 
you  aware  that  I  am  reading '?  " 

"  O  !  "  exclaimed  the  lady,  obsequiously. 

Silence  again.  The  old  gentleman  reading  ;  Etty  puzzling  her 
unhappy  brain  over  her  co)nposition  ;  Robert  chewing  the  cud  of 
meditation  in  the  corner.  Presently  Mrs.  Greenwich  moved  her 
:;hair  carefully  back,  with  a  smiie  of  maternal  encouragement 
brightening  in  her  face. 


252  THE    GHEENWICII    FAMILY. 


"  Can  you  make  pistol  do  ?  " 

"Mrs.  Greenwich!"  said  the  squire's  precise  accents,  "hew 
many  times  must  I  request  not  to  be  di.-turbed  when  that  1  am 
reading?"  He  pushed  his  book  across  the  table,  shoved  back  his 
chair,  raised  his  spectacles  above  his  eyebrows,  and  rapped  the  lid 
of  his  snuff-box.  Mrs.  Greenwich  trembled  ;  Etty  sighed ;  Robert 
crossed  his  legs  and  scowled.  A  family  lecture  was  expected. 
Whilst  the  old  gentleman  was  clearing  his  throat,  and  pursing  up 
his  mouth  into  a  patriarchal  grimace,  his  wife  hazarded  an  expla- 
nation. . 

"  Etty  could  n't  find  a  rhyme  to  crystal,  and  I  thought  it  would 
do  no  harm  to  help  her  a  little.  Poor  child  !  she  does  n't  receive 
any  too  much  encouragement  —  " 

Mr.  Greenwich  raised  his  hand.  That  hand  meant  silence ;  and 
silence  ensued. 

"  Daughter  ?  " 

«  What !  " 

'  Daughter?" 

Etty,  more  lady-like  :  "  What,  sir  ?  " 

"  Why  did  you  not  respond,  when  that  I  addressed  you 
before  ?  " 

"  I  did,  sir." 

"  What  did  you  say,  daughter  ?  " 

Etty,  hesitating  :  "  I  said  —  what." 

"  Was  that  a  response,  daughter  ?  " 

"No,  sir." 

"  That  is  all.     Remember.     Now,  what  is  the  rhyme  ?  " 

"  A  rhyme  to  crystal." 

"I  thought  pistol  was  good,"  Mrs.  Greenwich  ventured  to 
interpose. 

"  There  's  a  rhyme  for  you,  Etty,  ready  cocked  and  primed," 
said  Robert,  with  gloomy  humor,  from  the  corner. 

"  Mrs.  Greenwich  !  Robert !  I  am  speaking.  Respect  the 
paternal  head  !  Daughter  ?  " 

"  What,  father  ?  " 

"  Name  the  Bobjoet  of  your  composition." 

"  'The  Fair  Nun's  Complaint,'  "  said  Etty,  readily. 


THE    GREENWICH    FAMILY.  253 


"  It  is  absurd,"  returned  the  paternal  head,  with  a  look  At  Mrs. 
Greenwich,  which  expressed  his  opinion  of  her  capacity,  "  to  sug- 
gest a  rhyme,  without  regard  to  the  subject  of  the  composition. 
What  has  the  '  Fair  Nun's  Complaint '  to  do  with  pistols  ?  " 

Mrs.  Greenwich,  simpering  :  "  I  thought  Etty  could  work  it  in, 
she  's  so  ingenious !  " 

Mr.  Greenwich,  with  a  significant  nod  :  "  That  will  do,  Mrs. 
Greenwich  !  Now  to  the  poem."  —  The  genius  read  a  stanza.  — 
"  Very  creditable,  my  daughter.  Subject,  Fair  Nun's  Complaint ; 
quatrains ;  octosyllabic  measure,  with  redundant  syllable  at  the 
end  of  first  and  third  lines  ;  rhyme  required  to  crystal.  Now  for 
our  rules.  What  is  the  body  of  the  word  ?  " 

That  was  found  to  be  ystal ;  and  the  application  of  rules  con- 
sisted in  finding  among  consonant  sounds  another  head  to  match 
the  decapitated  word.  Father  and  daughter  went  through  with 
the  alphabet  together,  but  without  success.  Heads  were  plenty 
enough,  but,  as  Kobert  moodily  suggested  from  his  corner,  the 
difficulty  was  to  find  one  that  had  sense  in  it.  An  endless  variety 
of  such  combinations  as  bystal,  cystal,  dystal,  down  to  zystal,  were 
manufactured,  not  one  of  which  existed  in  any  known  dictionary. 
There  was  a  solitary  exception.  It  was  the  word  pystal,  or 
pistol. 

"Pistol,"  said  Mr.  Greenwich,  "appears,  then,  to  be  our  only 
perfect  rhyme  " 

"What  did  I  tell  you,  Etty?"  spoke  up  the  mother,  with  a 
gleam  of  triumph. 

•'  Mrs.  Greenwich,"  observed  the  paternal  head,  with  stern  pre- 
cision, "  your  assistance  is  NOT  required." 

"  0  ! "  —  and  Mrs.  Greenwich  settled  down  again,  with  an  auni 
hilated  expression. 

'•  What  do  we  do  in  the  case,  daughter  ?  "  said  the  squire. 

Etty  replied  that  where  no  perfect  rhymes  would  answer,  imper- 
fect ones  might  be  used. 

"Then,"  said  Robert,  "  what  do  you  say  to  whistle?     If  your 
nun,  with  the  tears  of  crystal,  only  knew  how  to  whistle,  you  would 
be  provided  for ;  you  could  bring  it  in  finely.    Or  gristle,  or  sizzle, 
—  you  have  plenty  of  such  rhymes.     How  would  drizzle  do  ?  " 
22 


254  THE    GREENWICH    FAMILY. 


••  Son  Robert,  you  amaze  me  !  "  uttered  the  paternal  head,  with 
a  look  of  solemn  displeasure.  Then  turning  to  Etty  :  "  Daughter, 
I  have  the  required  rhyme.  It  is  a  felicitous  word,  inasmuch  as 
that  it  is  in  perfect  keeping  with  your  subject.  It  is  vestal.  A 
nun  may  be  called  a  vestal.  I  trust  to  your  happy  talent  to  make 
fitting  use  of  it  in  the  structure  of  the  lines." 

But  Robert's  ridicule  was  too  much  for  the  sensitive  child  ;  and 
the  discovery  of  a  fine  rhyme  was  no  consolation  for  his  sarcasm. 
She  was  crying. 

"  Hem  !  "  coughed  the  paternal  head,  moving  in  his  chair.  Ho 
drew  up  his  book,  and  shoved  it  from  him  again  ;  wiped  his  spec- 
tacles, and  saddled  them  once  more  on  his  eyebrows  ;  then  took 
another  pinch  of  snuff'.  "  You  may  put  aside  your  varses  for  the 
present,  daughter.  Mrs.  Greenwich,  will  you  oblige  me  by  dis- 
pensing with  your  knitting-work,  and  bestowing  attention  upon 
my  remarks  ?  Son  Robert,  a  more  respectful  attitude  will  be 
quite  as  becoming  in  listening  to  what  your  father  has  to  say. 
When  that  all  appear  prepared  to  hear,  I  will  proceed." 

Robert  changed  his  position  by  crossing  his  legs  in  a  contrary 
direction,  and  clasping  his  hands  over  his  head,  instead  of  behind 
his  chair.  A  deep  silence  followed,  broken  only  by  the  purring 
of  the  cat,  as  she  rubbed  her  neck  affectionately  against  the  old 
lady's  dress,  and  by  the  slow  ticking  of  the  old  clock  in  the 
corner. 

Mr.  Greenwich,  impressively  :   "  We  are  waiting  for  Robert." 
"  0,  waiting  for  me  ?     What  can  I  do  for  you,  sir  ?  " 
"  If  you  do  not  perceive,  we  will  wait  until  that  you  do." 
Whether  Robert  knew  from  experience  that  his  father  would 
keep  his  word,  and  wait  all  night,  if  necessary,  in  the  same  fear- 
ful  silence,  or  whether  he   reflected  that  it  was  injudicious   to 
provoke  the  paternal  displeasure  too  openly,  ho  yielded  the  point, 
and  assumed  a  more  decorous  attitude. 

"Son  Robert,"  then  said  the  old  gentleman,  placing  the  book 
on  his  knees,  and  laying  his  spectacles  upon  it,  "your  conduct  has 
failed  of  pleasing  me  of  late,  and  I  have  treasured  a  few  words 
for  your  edification.  A  fit  occasion  to  deliver  them  hath  arrived." 
Then  followed  a  tedious  discourse,  of  half  an  hour's  duration,  on 


THE  GREENWICH  FAMILY.  255 


the  subject  of  family  discipline,  reverence  to  the  paternal  head, 
and  kindred  topics,  with  a  particular  application  to  Robert's  case. 
"  But  this  is  not  all.  The  report  is,  son  Robert,  that  you  indulge 
in  dram-drinking ;  and  you  have  carried  your  disregard  for  my 
wishes  so  far  as  to  smoke  cigars  even  in  my  own  house."  There- 
upon the  paternal  head  took  a  violent  pinch  of  snuff.  "  You  may 
reply,  that  you  are  of  an  age  to  regulate  your  own  conduct  in  this 
respect.  I  will  forestall  the  remark,  by  saying  that  no  child  of 
mine  is  of  an  age  to  transgress  my  commands  beneath  my  own 
roof.  Your  other  irregularities  have  not  escaped  public  censure, 
and  I  have  more  than  once  taken  occasion  to  remind  you  of  your 
derelictions.  Your  instability  of  character  has  become  notorious. 
When  that  you  returned  from  Mobile,  where  you  had  an  excellent, 
lucrative  situation,  you  gave  as  an  excuse,  that  you  had  taken  a 
summer  vacation,  to  avoid  the  extreme  heat  of  the  climate.  But, 
the  summer  over,  you  must  be  posting  off  to  the  north,  in  search 
of  new  employment.  Now,  there  is  another  change  ;  and  you  have 
some  mysterious  business  on  your  hands,  which  you  will  commu- 
nicate to  nobody.  You  go  and  come,  as  the -whim  takes  you ; 
"appearing  to  make  my  house  a  sort  of  den  to  hide  in,  and  acting 
more  like  a  culprit  than  a  son  of  respectable  'Squire  Greenwich. 
Your  disposition,  moreover,  exhibits  the  effect  of  idle  habits,  inas- 
much as  that  you  are  morose  and  sullen,  and  that  your  principal 
pleasure  appears  to  consist  in  ridiculing  your  sister's  noble  aims. 
I  need  not  again  remind  you  that  all  this  is  to  be  reformed.  You 
Vt  ill  now  please  withdraw,  and  ponder  what  has  been  said.  Daugh- 
ter, I  have  a  few  remarks  for  you." 

Without  a  word,  Robert  rose,  and  went  to  his  chamber.  Half 
an  hour  later,  his  door  was  pushed  open,  and  Etty  looked  timidly 
in.  He  sat  before  his  desk,  leaning  his  face  upon  his  clenched 
liands,  with  an  unfinished  letter  lying  before  him  in  the  lamp- 
light. The  child's  eyes  were  red  with  weeping,  but  she  had  dried 
her  tears,  which  her  brother  so  much  hated,  and  she  was  trying 
very  hard  to  look  cheerful,  as  she  approached  the  desk. 

"  What  do  you  want  ?  "  What  she  wanted  was  but  a  simple 
and  easy  thing  to  grant.  The  poor  child  could  not  s^'cep  that 
night  without  telling  him  how  sorry  she  was  to  have  displeased 


256  T1IE    GREENWICH    FAMILY. 


him,  and  to  ask  his  forgiveness.  But  his  tone  and  manner  fright- 
ened her.  "  Come  here,"  said  he,  as  she  stood  shrinking  before 
him.  "  Did  you  want  to  see  what  I  was  writing  ?  Read  it !  " 

He  extended  the  manuscript,  and,  as  she  bent  forward,  confused 
and  trembling,  to  obey,  struck  her  with  it  upon  the  cheek. 

"  Is  it  interesting  ?  "  said  he,  with  a  malicious  laugh. 

"  0,  Robert !  I  did  not  mean  —  " 

"  That  will  do,  my  dear.  Thank  you  for  your  interest  in  my 
affairs.  In  return,  I  '11  give  you  another  rhyme  for  your  crystal. 
It  is  mizzle.  In  familiar  colloquy,  it  signifies  vamose  ;  cut  stick  ; 
make  yourself  scarce ;  evaporate ;  in  short,  go  away.  Do  you 
understand  ?  " 

With  a  bursting  heart,  holding  her  hand  to  her  face,  Etty  hast- 
ened to  relieve  him  of  her  hated  presence,  and,  retreating  to  her 
room,  threw  herself  upon  her  pillow  in  convulsions  of  girlish 
grief. 


XXX. 

AN    UNWELCOME    GUEST 

HECTOR'S  preparations  were  made.  Then  came  the  parting 
O,  Charlotte  !  be  brave  !  be  strong !  What  is  life,  what  is  death, 
what  are  the  pangs  and  fears  of  a  day,  if  thou  hast  faith  in  the 
immortality  of  love  ? 

Charlotte  was  brave  and  strong ;  she  looked  beyond  all  the 
clouds  that  hung  over  her  path,  into  the  light  of  a  clear,  deep 
heaven,  to  which  Hector  pointed  her,  and  which  love  and  truth 
made  theirs,  whatever  might  be  their  fortunes  for  a  time.  She 
gave  him  only  words  and  looks  of  encouragement  at  their  parting, 
and  waved  her  handkerchief  to  him  from  her  window,  until  he 
was  shut  from  her  view.  Then  what  tears  she  shed  in  the 
secrecy  of  her  chamber,  no  one  knew.  When  she  entered  Mrs. 
Dunbury's  room,  it  was  she  who  had  strength  and  cheer  to  impart 
to  the  desponding  mother. 

Mr.  Dunbury,  still  suffering  from  his  hurts,  grew  more  moody 
than  before.  In  the  unoccupied  hours  of  his  indisposition,  his 
morbid  mind  dwelt  upon  the  past.  He  remembered  the  golden 
prospects  of  his  youth,  his  proud  family  connections,  the  elegance 
and  ease  that  graced  his  early  life.  From  that  bright  beginning, 
his  star  had  waned  and  sunk,  until  now  he  could  look  upon  him- 
self only  as  a  coarse  and  vulgar  old  man.  He  was  conscious  that 
all  the  finer  feelings  of  his  youth  were  deadened.  Life  had 
become  a  desert,  with  not  one  Oasis  in  the  dreary  waste  of  common 
toils  and  trials,  on  which  to  feed  a  hope.  And  it  was  his  own 
wretched  folly  which  alone  he  had  to  accuse.  Conviviality, 
extravagance,  wild  dissipation,  ruin  ;  such  was  his  history.  Two 
pictures,  in  tragical  contrast,  hung  forever  before  his  eyes,  —  what 
22* 


258  AN   UNWELCOME   GUEST. 


tie  might  have  been  —  what  he  was !  Thus,  memory  became 
remorse,  and  gnawed  his  heart.  Or  if  at  any  time  his  better 
angel  whispered  that  by  a  true  life  he  might  still  atone  for  his 
errors,  his  thousand  resolutions  in  the  past,  made  only  to  be 
broken,  arose  like  ghosts  before  him,  grinning  and  mocking. 

All  this  Charlotte  perceived.  She  knew,  too,  that  he  regarded 
her  with  jealous  eyes.  He  was  proud  still ;  he  remembered  that 
Hector  was  the  son  of  a  gentleman,  and  that  Charlotte  was  a 
servant.  He  had  observed  their  intimacy ;  and  now  Hector  was 
abroad  on  her  business.  "  The  next  thing  will  be  a  marriage  !  " 
He  expressed  his  thoughts  to  his  wife  ;  he  did  not  conceal  them 
from  Charlotte.  Still,  she  had  no  condemnation  for  him,  but 
much  compassion.  She  sought  his  good-will ;  she  exerted  herself 
to  ple"ase  him  ;  and  often  there  was  a  charm  about  her  which  not 
even  he  could  resist. 

One  day,  having  dressed  his  wound  as  usual,  she  asked  permis- 
sion to  comb  his  hair.  He  answered  that  he  cculd  never  endure 
any  person  to  touch  it ;  but  her  tone,  her  smile,  and  the  winning 
assurance  with  which  she  brought  the  brush  and  comb,  quite  dis- 
armed his  ill-nature.  Never  was  experiment  more  successful. 
There  was  certainly  a  magnetism  in  her  touch ;  for,  so  far  from 
being  irritated,  he  felt  only  a  soothing .  influence.  The  invalid 
looked  on  in  mild  delight,  to  see  Charlotte  do,  with  such  per- 
fect ease  and  grace,  what  had  never,  before  been  accomplished. 
Unfortunately,  Corny's  ever-recurring  head  was  put  in  at  the 
door. 

"  '3  a  man  out  here.  Do'no'  what  he  wants  ;  guess  he  'd  like 
to  hire  out.  Said  he  'd  saw  for  me,  if  I  'd  come  in  an'  tell  ye." 

"Tell  me  what?" 

"  Do'no' ;  did  n't  say,"  drawled  Corny. 

The  boy  was  sent  about  his  business,  with  an  injunction  to 
enter  the  house  with  no  more  such  meaningless  errands.  But  in 
five  minutes  the  indefatigable  head  reappeared. 

"  Tol'  me  to  come  in  an'  tell  ye !  " 

"  To  tell  us  what  ?  " 

"  Did  n't  say ;  I  can't  git  nothin'  out  on  him.  Guess  it 's 
Charlotte  he  wants;  for  he  said  't  wan't  you  nor  Mis'  Dunbury, 


AN    UNWELCOME    GUEST. 


nor  Bridget,  nuther ;  an'  when  I  axed  if  't  was  Charlotte,  his  eyes 
looked  —  1  can't  tell  how,  but  real  funny,  an'  he  called  me  Tele- 
scope. That 's  all;  an'  he  made  me  come  in  an'  tell  ye." 

Mr.  Dunbury  answered  with  a  look,  which  Corny  understood, 
and  he  withdrew  muttering.  Charlotte  continued  her  task.  But 
the  charm  was  broken.  Her  hand  had  grown  nervous,  and  Mr. 
Dunbury's  equanimity  was  destroyed.  Another  reappearance  of 
Corny.  Charlotte  looked  pale.  Mr.  Dunbury  looked  very  red. 

"  I  do'no'  what  to  do.      I  can't  git  red  on  him.     He  keeps 
makin'  me  come  an'  tell  ye.     I  never  see  sich  a  man.     He  can't 
saw  wood  more  'n  a  hen;  and  he  's  mos'  broke  the  saw  a'ready." 
With  a  fiery  expression  Mr.  Dunbury  arose. 
"  Let  me  go  !  "  cried   Charlotte.     In  the  wood-shed  she  found 
the  incomprehensible  visitor.     He  was  making  violent  efforts  to 
extricate  the  saw,  which  had  become  pinched  in  the  stick  he  was 
cutting,  notwithstanding  the  handfuls  of  snow  he  had  put  in  to 
facilitate  the  movement. 
»  Edward ! " 

He  looked  up,  took  off  his  hat,  and,  drawing  up  his  meagre 
figure  with  great  dignity,  made  a  profound  obeisance. 

"  Salutation,  your  majesty  !  I  abdicate  the  saw-horse !  I 
hope  my  appearance  is  not  premature.  I  am  unused  to  state 
Dccasions." 

"  You  've  e'en-a-jest  broke  the  saw  !  "  muttered  Corny. 
"  Verification  !  "  whispered  Edward,  with  a  keen  glance.     "  If 
dissatisfied,  you  can  appeal.     But  say  no  more,  and  here  's  a  but- 
ternut for  you." 

"  I  do'  want  none  o'  yer  butt'nuts !  I  s'pose  I  shall  be 
blamed  for  these  'ere  teeth  bein'  broke;  that's  all  I  care  fur." 

"  Broken  teeth  —  so  shall  truth  be  delivered !  Acts  have 
their  meaning.  I  surprise  your  majesty  ?  " 

"  I  little  suspected  to  see  you  again  so  soon,"  said  Charlotte. 
"  Where  are  you  from  to-day  ?  " 

"  From  Siberia,  the  land  of  exile  ! "  answered  the  prime  minis- 
ter.    "  To  bring  your  majesty  an  offering.     Will  you  receive  it 
aow  ?  " 
"  What  is  it,  Edward  ?  " 


260  AN    UNWELCOME    GUEST. 


"  A  head,  your  majesty  ;  that  of  a  subject  who  had  the  misfor- 
tune to  offend  you !  "  and  Edward's  eyes  gleamed. 

"  What  do  you  mean  ?  "  cried  Charlotte. 

"  Will  you  have  it  in  a  sack,  or  on  a  charger  ?  It  awaits 
your  bidding ! " 

"Where,  Edward?" 

"  On  these  shoulders,  your  majesty  !  "  and  the  prime  minister 
bowed  gravely.  "  If  convenient,  I  'd  have  pickled  it,  and  brought 
it  you  in  a  jar.  But  it  can  be  presently  taken  off,  at  your  com- 
mand. Behold  the  executioner  with  his  axe  !  "  indicating  Corny 
with  his  wood-saw. 

"  Edward,"  said  Charlotte,  "  these  things  are  unworthy  of  you. 
Come  in,  and  tell  us  of  your  journey." 

"  Though  worn,  and  shorn,  and  tattered,  and  torn,  he  was 
onward  borne !  There  were  wolves  and  bald-eagles,  but  the 
Seven  Wise  Men  carried  him  through.  Over  the  snow,  now  high, 
now  low,  now  fast,  now  slow,  on,  on  we  go  !  whoo-ip  !  whoo-oa  ! 
That 's  the  ginger  !  " 

"  Edward,  do  you  hear  me  ?  You  are  among  relatives  now, 
who  will  not  appreciate  your  nights  of  intellect.  You  must  be 
like  other  people,  if  you  would  please  me." 

"  What !  since  that  morning  ?  You  thought  to  deceive  ;  but, 
glory  to  the  sacred  titmouse !  it  was  all  whispered  in  my  ear. 
You  rode  off  grandly  with  Prince  Hector ;  but  I  was  at  the 
church  before  you.  I  covered  myself  with  a  blanket,  and  hid 
behind  the  organ." 

"  Dear  Edward,"  pleaded  Charlotte,  "  if  you  have  any  regard 
for  me,  forget  all  that ;  speak  of  it  to  no  one  here  !  Consider  rue 
as  I  was  before  !  " 

"  Prince  Hector  looked  royal ;  but  the  hypocrite  in  the  robes 
turned  pale  as  his  shirt.  I  groaned  three  times  for  the  echo. 
Wo  !  wo  !  wo  !  —  how  it  sounded  in  the  roof!  I  laughed  like  a 
handsome  young  widow  at  the  funeral  of  a  rich  old  husband ' 
'T  was  solemn  fun  !  " 

"  Edward,  you  do  not  please  me,  and  I  shall  leave  you.  In 
that  room  you  will  find  your  relatives." 

"  Siberia  !  "  exclaimed  the  prime  minister.     "  If  my  wits  wan- 


AN    UNWELCOME   GUES1.  261 


der,  it 's  owing  to  the  frost :  u-g-h-h !  how  I  shivered  !  I 
lamented  the  marriage ;  but  I  did  not  envy  the  prince.  So  —  or 
call  in  the  executioner.  Ho  !  what  functionary  ?  " 

The  sitting-room  door  was  opened,  and  Mr.  Dunbury  appeared. 

"  Edward  Longman  !  how  came  you  here?" 

"  What  shall  I  say  ?  "  asked  the  prime  minister,  aside.  "  Can  I 
mention  the  Seven  Wise  Men  ?  " 

"  No,  Edward.     Tell  him  you  wajked,  if  you  did  walk." 

"  I  walked,  if  I  did  walk,  your  honor  !  "  —  and,  bowing  pro- 
foundly, Edward  looked  to  Charlotte  for  her  approbation. 

A  shadowy  scowl  passed  over  the  wintry  landscape  of  Mr. 
Dunbury's  face,  as  he  made  a  motion  for  the  wanderer  to  go  in. 

"  Welcome  is  the  honey  of  souls,"  remarked  Edward,  "  but 
dark  looks  are  gall.  Thank  your  honor.  In  our  kingdom  there 
shall  be  schools  of  the  virtues,  and  hospitality  shall  be  taught 
before  ciphering.  I  engage  you  as  a  professor.  There's  a 
smiling  face,"  scrutinizing  Mrs.  Dunbury,  who  held  out  her  hand 
to  him  from  her  easy-chair ;  "  but  we  are  not  what  we  seem. 
Experience  is  the  mother  of  caution." 

"  Have  you  forgotten  me,  cousin  ?  " 

"  I  should  do  ill  to  forget  so  venerable  a  lady  !  And  here  's  a 
shake  for  you  !  " 

Mrs.  Dunbury  invited  him  to  be  seated,  and  inquired  about  his 
family. 

"  They  are  well,  for  a  family  of  sinners.  The  old  lady  has 
experienced  a  miraculous  cure." 

"  Your  mother  ?  " 

"  Whom  they  called  my  mother.  Disease  has  vanishttJ,  and 
she  enjoys  rest ;  bless  her  dear  old  soul !  " 

"  How  do  you  mean  ?  " 

"  0,  death  is  your  only  doctor  !  She  put  off  mortality  nine 
days  ago.  Let  fools  weep  at  funerals  ;  the  wise  will  take  holi- 
day. It 's  a  weary  world  ;  and  all  who  live  sin,  and  all  who  sin 
suffer.  I  could  name  an  exception  ;  for  one  soul  is  exempt.  Or  if 
ever  he  suffers," —  the  prime  minister  laid  his  hand  upon  his  breast 
bowing  graciously,  —  »  it  is  from  spare  diet,  thin  clothes,  and  the 
sins  of  others  !  But  he  bears  up,  thanks  to  a  sound  mind  in  a  sound 


262  AN    UNWELCOME    GUEST. 


oody,  and  to  the  Seven  Wise  Men.  I  've  eaten  nothing  since  yes- 
terday, and  I  Ve  tramped  through  snow  and  through  water.'i 

He  glanced  downwards  to  his  boots,  which  were  thin,  red,  and 
saturated  ;  and  the  expression  of  his  face  was  wild,  and  weary, 
and  haggard.  Mrs.  Dunbury  questioned  him  concerning  his 
mother ;  but  he  shook  his  head  thoughtfully,  still  gazing  at  his 
feet. 

"  Give  him  some  dry  socks,"  muttered  Mr.  Dunbury,  "  and  let 
Bridget  set  out  a  luncheon.  I  'd  rather  have  seen  the  cholera  enter 
the  house ;  but  while  he  remains  he  must  be  cared  for." 

"  Thank  you,  professor  !  "  Edward  looked  up,  with  a  bright 
expression.  "  When  I  go,  the  cholera  shall  come.  The  cramps 
are  jolly  !  Then  you  '11  think  of  me  !  " 

And  he  laughed  a  light,  airy,  hollow  laugh,  which  chilled  the 
blood  to  hear.  His  eyes  followed  Charlotte,  as  she  passed  from 
the  room ;  then,  moving  over  to  Mrs.  Dunbury,  he  put  his  hand  to 
his  mouth,  and  whispered,  mysteriously, 

"  She  's  a  queenly  figure  !  But  where  's  the  bridegroom  ?  I 
am  to  omit  all  titles,  or  I  would  call  him  Prince  Hector.  'T  was 
an  illustrious  marriage,  but  there  was  an  attempt  at  secrecy." 

"  What  are  you  talking  about  ?  "  demanded  Mr.  Dunbury. 

"  State  policy  !  I  suspected  his  second  visit ;  and  they  could 
not  deceive  me !  She  had  been  two  weeks  preparing.  They 
knew  my  opinions  of  marriage,  and  feared  my  opposition.  But  I 
was  at  the  church  before  them.  Ha  !  you  look  troubled  !  " 

"  Dismiss  Charlotte  from  your  mind,  and  dry  your  feet  by  the 
fire,"  said  Mrs.  Dunbury. 

"  Evasion  !  You  are  the  queen-mother  ;  and  you  fear  treason. 
I  have  no  griefs ;  but  I  liked  not  that  the  ceremony  should  be 
mean  and  obscure.  I  would  have  had  it  grand  and  imposing. 
The  guests  are  met,  the  feast  is  set,  mayst  hear  the  merry  din  ! 
So  I  cried  wo  !  three  times,  and  heard  it  echo  in  the  roof.  You 
are  the  bridegroom's  father." 

Mr.  Dunbury  turned  upon  his  wife.  Her  looks  betrayed 
her.  The  shadow  on  his  face  became  that  of  a  thunder-cloud. 

"  This  means  something  !  And  you  are  not  ignorant !  What 
is  it  ?  What  of  Hector  and  Charlotte  ?  " 


AN'  UNWELCOME    GUEST.  263 


Edward  laughed.  "  Excellent  artifice !  But  no  deception. 
They  had  two  witnesses  at  the  church  ;  and  I  made  a  third.  I 
was  the  guest  that  had  not  on  a  wedding  garment." 

His  wild  words  were  cut  short  by  the  appearance  of  Charlotte. 

"  What  is  this,  I  say  ?  "  roared  Mr.  Dunbury.  "  Have  I  been 
duped  ?  Has  my  son  married  my  servant  ?  " 

Charlotte  reeled  and  clung  to  the  door  for  support. 

"  Mr.  Dunbury  !  —  husband  !  —  father  !  —  in  the  name  of 
mercy,"  pleaded  the  invalid,  "  be  gentle  with  the  child  !  If  fault 
there  be,  it  is  not  hers,  —  it  is  Hector's — mine!  Do  not  kill 
her !  " 

The  prayer  was  unheeded.  The  purple  rage  in  Mr.  Dunbury's 
face,  and  the  bursting  fury  of  his  speech,  struck  Charlotte  down, 
as  at  a  blow.  With  a  faint  cry  of  anguish,  she  loosed  her  hold, 
and  fell  to  the  floor.  The  invalid,  tottering  forward,  essayed  to 
raise  her  in  her  arms.  Edward  set  up  a  shout. 

"  Ha  !  ha  !  ha  !  The  world  is  topsy-turvy  !  They  would 
cheat  me  of  my  wit ;  but  artifice,  avaunt !  'T  was  I  that  hid  in 
the  church,  and  groaned  behind  the  organ  !  " 


XXXI. 

BROTHER  AND   SISTER. 

THE  "  Fair  Nun's  Complaint "  remained  a  poetical  fragment. 
The  young  authoress  felt  no  more  inspiration  for  the  subject, 
from  the  memorable  evening  of  the  rhymes ;  and  after  several 
unsuccessful  attempts  to  complete  the  sixth  stanza,  she  tore  the 
manuscript. 

"  Why !  "  exclaimed  Mrs.  Greenwich,  "  what  makes  you  do  so  ? 
How  sorry  I  am  !  They  were  very  pretty  varses,  I  am  sure." 

"  I  never  wrote  anything  so  dull  in  my  life  !  "  exclaimed  Etty. 

"  0,  now  !  You  need  n't  think  so  !  You  should  have  patience. 
Can't  you  remember  the  varses,  and  write  them  off?" 

"  If  I  could,  I  would  n't !  " 

"  Why,  my  child,  I  am  surprised !  How  can  you  be  so 
unladylike  ?  What  would  your  father  say  ?  Here,  give  me  that 
other  piece  ;  these  go  together,  don't  they  ?  What  word  is  that 
torn  off?  I  can  make  out  all  of  one  varse  but  that ;  and  it 's 
very  touching,  seems  to  me.  I  don't  know  when  I  've  seen  such 
good  poetry  anywhere.  '  The  moonbeams  'iieath  the  convent 
dashing,  my  tears  are  glittering  on  the  roof,'  —  those  are  very 
beautiful  words ! " 

"  It  is  n't  so  !  "  cried  Etty,  attempting  to  snatch  the  paper. 

"  0  !  "  said  her  mother,  "  I  have  n't  matched  the  pieces  right 
It 's  the  moonbeams  that  glitter,  and  the  waves  that  dash ;   but  1 
am  sure  it  reads  well  either  way.     Now,  do  you  sit  down   and 
finish  it  for  the  Green  Mountain  Herald  ;  everybody  will  admire 
it  in  print,  and  then  your  father  will  praise  you." 

But  Etty  only  took  the  fragments  to  put  them  into  the  fire. 
Etty  was  human,  although  a  genius.  Perhaps  she  was  all  the 


BROTHER    AND    SISTER.  265 


more  human  on  that  account.  From  her  infancy  her  heart  had 
felt  a  hungering  for  love;  and  her  hopes  and  affections  had 
centred  in  her  brother,  unworthy  as  he  was.  His  indifference 
gave  her  pain,  without  lessening  her  attachment ;  and  when  he 
was  unkind  to  her,  she  was  more  ready  to  accuse  herself  than 
niin.  But  the  most  cruel  test  to  which  her  love  had  ever  been 
put  was  the  blow  with  which  he  sent  her  from  him  that  night. 
When  the  bitter  memory  swelled  in  her  heart,  it  seemed  almost 
bursting  with  anguish.  Unfortunately,  she  was  kept  from  school, 
to  be  under  her  father's  immediate  instruction ;  and  she  had  no 
companions.  Indeed,  there  was  but  one  person  whose  sympathy 
she  much  desired.  That  person  was  Charlotte  Woods,  whose 
kindness  she  so  gratefully  remembered.  But  she  did  not  know 
that  Robert  ever  went  to  Mr.  Duubury's  now ;  and  if  he  did, 
there  was  no  hope  that  he  would  take  her  with  him.  So  her  only 
consolation  was  to  brood  silently  over  her  grief  by  day,  and  by 
night  to  sigh  and  weep  upon  her  wretched  pillow. 

In  this  state  of  mind,  Etty  naturally  preferred  solitude  to  the 
company  of  the  family.  But  it  was  winter,  and  her  mother  would 
not  suffer  her  to  sit  in  the  cold  rooms.  Generally,  however,  there 
was  a  fire  in  Robert's  chamber ;  and,  when  he  was  absent,  she  used 
to  get  permission  to  sit  up  there  alone,  pretending  to  take  advan- 
tage of  the  quiet,  to  study  her  lessons.  She  was  careful  that 
Robert  should  not  find  her  there  ;  listening  for  his  footsteps,  and 
gliding  softly  away  at  his  approach.  One  evening,  however, 
having  ensconced  herself  in  a  favorite  position  by  the  window, 
where  she  could  gaze  at  the  moon,  and  drawn  the  curtains  about 
her  in  a  manner  completely  to  exclude  the  light  of  the  lamp,  she 
gave  such  free  rein  to  her  fancy,  that,  wandering  far  off  into  the 
regions  of  ideal  hopes  and  sorrows,  it  somehow  lost  itself,  and 
passed,  unconsciously,  into  the  realm  of  dreams.  Nature  had 
long  been  cheated  of  her  proper  repose  by  the  young  girl's  melan- 
choly ;  and  now  she  took  ample  revenge.  Etty's  head  had  sunk 
upon  her  arm,  and  her  sleep  was  profound.  She  dreamed  that 
Robert  and  Charlotte  were  married,  and  that  she  went  to  live 
with  them,  and  was  very  happy;  the  only  trouble  being  that 
their  house  was  discovered  to  be  a  convent,  and  that  her  new 
23 


266  BROTHER    AND    SISTER. 


sister  turned  out  to  be  a  nun,  who  was  in  great  distress  because 
t-he  was  to  be  printed,  for  general  circulation,  in  the  Green  Moun- 
tain Herald.  It  was  Robert  who  had  condemned  her  to  that 
punishment,  for  wearing  his  white  satin  waistcoat  to  a  sewing- 
circle  in  the  village ;  an  offence  nuns  had  a  passion  for  commit- 
ting, notwithstanding  the  fatal  consequences.  Etty  went  to  him 
to  plead  Charlotte's  cause  ;  when  he  struck  her  so  violent  a  blow 
with  the  warrant  he  was  signing,  that  —  she  awoke. 

She  started  in  terror ;  for  the  place  seemed  strange  to  her,  and 
she  heard  voices  in  the  room.  Then  came  the  shock  of  conscious- 
ness :  she  remembered  where  she  was :  she  had  been  asleep,  and 
Robert  had  returned  !  He  was  not  alone ;  he  had  one  or  two 
companions ;  Etty  could  not  tell  at  first  how  many.  The  lamp 
found  burning  on  his  table  did  not  surprise  him  ;  for  often,  when 
he  was  out,  Etty  had  left  a  light  for  him,  on  going  to  bed.  But 
it  was  now  late,  the  oil  was  low,  and  the  dim  flame  cast  but  a 
feeble  ray  in  the  chamber.  Added  to  this,  was  the  fact  that  the 
window  where  the  child  sat  was  partly  concealed  by  the  bed.  In 
her  first  tremor  of  affright,  Etty  had  not  the  courage  to  discover 
herself :  she  waited  to  still  the  fluttering  of  her  heart,  and  to 
gather  breath  and  strength ;  and  the  longer  she  waited  the  more 
terrible  her  situation  became.  She  heard  words  which  she  knew 
she  ought  not  to  hear.  Robert  had  introduced  his  companion 
into  his  chamber,- at  that  secret  hour,  that  even  the  circumstance 
of  their  conferring  together  might  be  hidden  from  all  the  world. 
And  there  sat  the  young  girl,  an  unwilling  listener  to  all  that  was 
said !  A  glimpse  she  had  of  some  great  danger  that  hung  over 
one  she  loved  added  intensity  to  her  fears.  What  the  danger 
was,  she  could  not  fully  comprehend ;  but  it  appeared  none  the 
less  awful  for  the  mystery  in  which  it  was  veiled.  Then  the 
child  remembered  the  dream  from  which  she  awaked  but  now,  so 
seemingly  absurd,  yet  so  seemingly  prophetic  ;  and  felt  cold  shud- 
ders of  dread  creep  over  her,  as  she  thought  of — Charlotte  ! 

How  long  the  interview  lasted,  Etty  had  no  means  of  judging. 
It  would  have  been  difficult  for  her  to  believe  that  so  much  suffer- 
ing as  she  experienced  could  be  compressed  within  the  brief  space 
of  an  hour.  It  seemed  prolonged  through  the  whole  of  a  long 


BROTHER   AND    SISTER.  267 


winter's  night.  At  last  Robert  conducted  his  companion  from 
the  room;  she  heard  them  go  softly  down  stairs,  heard  a  dooi 
open  and  close,  heard  her  father  cry  out  from  his  bed-chamber 
"  Who  is  there?  "  and  heard  Robert  answer,  "  I  am  after  a  glass 
of  water."  But  by  this  time  the  child  stood  trembling  in  her 
own  chamber :  she  had  arrived  there  without  knowing  how  :  she 
had  never  any  recollection  of  passing  from  room  to  room.  She 
waited  .until  she  saw  the  shimmer  of  Robert's  lamp  on  the  land- 
ing, and  heard  his  door  close  after  him ;  then  shrank  away  in  her 
dreary  room  to  her  bed,  and  covered  her  head,  shivering  with 
terror  and  cold. 

Etty  thought  it  must  now  be  near  morning.  But  she  had  long 
hours  yet  to  wait.  How  often  she  looked  from  beneath  the  clothes, 
to  see  the  glimmer  of  gray  light  on  the  walls!  — At  last,  at  last, 
it  came  :  the  slow,  reluctant  dawn  peeped  in  at  the  window.  Her 
room  was  on  the  opposite  side  of  the  house  from  her  brother's, 
looking  towards  the  north ;  and,  as  soon  as  it  was  light  enough 
to  see,  she  got  up  and  gazed  anxiously  down  the  valley.  It  was 
a  mild  winter's  morning ;  the  eaves  dripped  with  the  melting  snow. 
Yet  the  earth  was  white,  and  the  road  leading  towards  Mr.  Dun- 
bury's  house  looked  desolate  and  forbidding.  How  was  she  to 
traverse  it,  to  get  to  Charlotte  ?  She  dared  not  tell  h3r  mother 
where  she  wished  to  go,  lest  Robert  should  learn  of  it,  and  guess 
her  purpose ;  and  the  only  way  seemed  to  be,  to  plan  an  escape 
from  the  house,  and  then,  on  foot  and  alone,  to  travel  that  lonely 
track  to  save  her  friend. 

A  plan  was  easily  invented.  Her  newly -married  cousins,  the 
Crestons,  lived  a  little  out  of  the  village,  although  in  an  opposite 
direction  from  that  she  wished  to  go.  For  some  time  she  had 
been  planning  to  make  them  a  visit,  and  she  would  ask  permission 
of  the  mother  to  go  that  day. 

The  permission  was  asked,  and  granted.  But  her  father's  sanc- 
tion was  necessary  to  render  it  valid.  His  decision  was,  that, 
provided  she  would  have  her  lessons  to  recite  when  he  came  home 
to  dinner,  she  might  go  to  her  cousin's  in  the  afternoon.  Etty  was 
in  despair ;  for  the  afternoon  would  be  too  late ;  and  her  father's 
decisions  were  unalterable.  Fortunately,  her  pale  looks,  discolored 


268  BROTHER   AND    SISTER. 


eyes,  and  want  of  appetite,  attracted  his  attention  at  the  break 
fust-table. 

"  Daughter,  are  you  in  your  usual  health  this  morning  ?  " 

"  Yes,  father."  Etty's  voice  faltered,  and  her  eyes  fell ;  fol 
.Robert  had  appeared,  and  it  seemed  to  her  that  he  could  read  hei 
burning  secret. 

"  How  late  did  you  study,  last  night  ?  " 

"Not  —  very  late." 

"  You  should  n't  study  a  minute  after  eight  o'clock,  my  child,'" 
said  the  mother.  "  You  have  n't  been  well,  these  three  weeks ; 
and  I  believe  it 's  nothing  in  the  world  but  —  " 

"  Mrs.  Greenwich,"  interrupted  the  paternal  head,  "  I  was 
speaking ! " 

Mrs.  G.,  with  alacrity  :  "  I  hear  -you,  Mr.  Greenwich." 

The  paternal  head  nodded  approvingly,  and  turned  to  Etty. 
"  Daughter,  when  that  you  requested  permission  to  visit  your 
cousins,  it  would  have  been  your  desire  to  go  this  forenoon  ;  but, 
upon  hearing  the  paternal  decision,  you  maintained  a  respectful 
silence,  as  was  befitflng.  Your  dutiful  behavior  merits  indul- 
gence ;  and,  in  consideration  of  your  application  to  your  books,  I 
have  weighed  the  matter,  and  resolved  to  reward  you  with  a  day's 
recreation." 

Etty,  tremulously  :  "  Thank  you,  father." 

"  If  Robert  has  nothing  to  do  —  "  began  the  mother. 

"  Mrs.  Greenwich,"  said  the  paternal  head,  with  severe  deliber- 
ation, "  if  it  is  your  design  to  usurp  the  conversation,  I  will  hold 
my  peace." 

"  0,  by  no  means !  Go  on,  Mr.  Greenwich  !  I  was  only  going 
to  make  the  remark  —  never  mind  !  " 

"  Son  Robert,"  then  said  the  'Squire,  "  you  will  oblige  me  by 
carrying  your  sister  over  to  your  cousins'  in  the  cutter." 

"  If  my  sister  will  accept  my  escort,"  replied  Robert,  bowing 
deferentially,  "  nothing  will  afford  me  greater  pleasure." 

Etty  dared  not  raise  her  eyes.     "  I  can  walk,  as  well  —  " 

"  Daughter,  since  the  paternal  head  has  decided,  is  it  fitting 
that  you  should  make  remarks  ?  " 

Poor  Etty  could  not  say  one  word.     Nothing  was  left  her,  but 


BROTHER  AND   SISTER.  269 


to  await  Robert's  motions,  and  trust  to  some  kind  chance,  for 
which  she  tremblingly  prayed,  to  favor  her  escape  to  Charlotte. 
It  was  an  hour  before  he  was  ready  to  accompany  her.  The  snow 
was  thawing  fast ;  in  many  places  the  road  was  broken  by  hoofs ; 
and  he  drove  very  slowly.  Arrived  in  sight  of  their  cousins',  she 
besought  him  to  go  no  further,  but  to  set  her  down,  and  leave  her 
to  walk  the  remaining  distance. 

"  Bless  your  dear  heart !  "  he  said,  sarcastically,  "  how  extremely 
anxious  you  are  to  get  rid  of  me,  this  morning  !  " 

"  I  make  you  so  much  trouble  —  " 

"  Trouble  ?  On  the  contrary,  in  the  fond  hope  of  giving  you 
pleasure,"  —  with  a  vein  of  mockery  in  his  tones,  —  "  I  had  con- 
cluded to  make  a  visit  with  you,  and  have  a  game  of  chess  with 
Charley's  wife,  after  dinner." 

Etty  hoped  he  did  but  jest ;  but  when  he  ordered  his  horse  to 
the  stable,  and,  entering  the  house  with  her,  declared  gayly  that  he 
had  come  over  to  read  Tom  Moore,  and  to  beat  his  fair  cousin  at 
a  game  of  chess,  the  child's  heart  sank,  and  she  almost  cried  out 
with  despair,  as  she  thought  of  Charlotte. 
23* 


XXXII. 

FLIGHT. 

RECOVERING  from  her  swoon,  Charlotte  put  her  friend  gentlji 
from  her,  and,  holding  her  hand  upon  her  heart  with  an  expressioc 
of  unutterable  suffering,  withdrew  quietly  to  her  chamber. 

"  The  gentleman's  victuals  is  ready,"  said  Bridget  at  the  door. 

"  Truth  is  eternal ;  but  cooking  is  a  necessary  evil ;  "  and 
Edward  arose  with  alacrity.  "  When  the  state  of  innocence  is 
reached,  men  will  winter  upon  acorns  and  dried  snails.  Mean- 
while greatness  must  crunch  !  Lead  the  way,  Elephant's-foot !  — 
If  I  fast  too  long,  the  hungry  tiger  haunts  me ;  but  after  the  lunch, 
Solon  will  shine  out." 

The  invalid  lay,  pallid,  and  sighing  at  long  intervals,  upon  the 
lounge. 

"  You,  then,"  burst  forth  her  husband,  "  you  have  encouraged 
the  imposition,  you  have  helped  to  make  me  a  dupe,  you  have 
countenanced  your  son's  folly  !  " 

"  0,  sir,"  cried  the  invalid,  rising  slowly  upon  her  arm,  and 
answering  his  furious  loot  with  a  sad  and  earnest  glance,  "  it  was 
in  fear  of  a  worse  folly,  of  which  you  are  not  ignorant,  that  I  con- 
sented to  the  marriage.  Look  at  Edward  !  —  then  think  of  Hector, 
who  inherits  the  same  blood,  the  same  dangerous  temperament, 
from  our  ancestors  !  0,  what  is  family  pride,  compared  with  the 
welfare  of  a  heart  and  mind  like  his  ?  —  And  think  of  Charlotte  ! 
consider  how  tender,  and  lovable,  and  true,  she  is ;  and  that  Hec- 
tor's feelings,  with  all  their  depth  and* intensity,  have  centred  in 
her ;  then,  for  his  sake,  if  not  for  her  sake,  be  merciful  !  " 

"  What  does  talk  amount  to  ?  Go  on  till  dooms-day ;  make 
Hector  a  saint,  make  Charlotte  an  angel,  make  me  a  brute !  thec 


FLIGHT.  271 


show  one   tangible    excuse,  —  the   shadow   of   reason,  —  why   I 
should  have  been  duped  !  " 

"  0,  would  I  could  explain  !  But  when  Hector  went  to  bring 
Charlotte  back,  and  when  we  both  longed  to  tell  you  their  history 
up  to  that  hour,  he  could  not  approach  you  —  I  could  not !  " 

"  Was  I  so  terrible  a  monster?  " 

"  You  force  me  to  say  what  I  would  leave  unsaid  !  When  you 
are  yourself,  you  are  to  me  a  husband,  —  to  him,  a  father.  But 
there  are  times  when  you  are  not  yourself,  as  you  know !  " 

The  quiet  tone  in  which  the  invalid  uttered  the  notorious  truth 
of  her  husband's  inebriety  for  a  moment  staggered  him,  and 
left  him  quivering  with  inarticulate  rage. 

"  No  one  wished  to  deceive  you ;  but,  considering  your  state, 
we  deemed  it  advisable  to  wait  until  Charlotte's  affairs  were 
guttled.  —  But  of  this  I  cannot  speak ;  you  would  not  hear  me, 
you  would  not  understand  ;  and  I  must  leave  the  rest  to  Hector, 
on  his  return.  Would  he  were  here  to-day  !  " 

"  So  say  I !  "  and  the  inebriate  stamped  the  floor  with  his 
infuriate  heel. 

"  You  forget,"  said  Mrs.  Dunbury,  "  that  he  is  of  an  age  to  act 
for  himself." 

"  And  let  him  !  Had  he  chosen  a  negress  or  a  squaw,  he  might 
have  married  in  spite  of  me.  But  when  he  thinks  to  harbor  his 
baggage  under  my  roof,  — he  shall  see  !  " 

"  Pie  will  be  quite  ready,  sir,  to  remove  his  wife  to  another  and 
pleasanter  home,  let  me  assure  you  ;  and,  no  doubt,  Charlotte  will 
be  as  ready  to  go.  Why  did  they  come  back  here  at  all  ?  Was  it 
not  for  my  sake,  and  for  your  sake?  because  you  needed  him,  and 
I  needed  both  ?  Had  they  acted  only  for  themselves,  your  house 
would  never  have  been  insulted  by  their  presence,  as  you  complain  ! 
Young,  strong,  courageous,  they  can  spare  us  very  well ;  it  re- 
mains to  be  seen  how  well  we  can  spare  them." 

"  It 's  Miss  Charlotte  I  'd  be  findin',"  said  Bridget  at  the  door. 
"There's  a  visitor  for  her," —  scratching  her  elbow,  and  glancing 
about  the  room.  Having  seized  the  opportunity  to  look  in  upon 
an  interesting  family  scene,  she  was  in  no  hurry  to  retire.  Mr 
Dunbury  breathed  hard. 


272  FLIGHT. 


"  A  visitor  ?  "  said  the  invalid. 

Bridget  scratched  the  other  elbow,  grinning  with  conscious  im- 
pertinence. "  Yes  'm  —  it 's  the  little  janus  —  what  ye  cahl  hei 
—  Mr.  Robert's  sister." 

"  Etty  !  who  is  with  her?  " 

"  It's  nobody  at  ahl  wid  her,  but  her  own  silf  jist !  It 's  alone 
an'  a  cryin'  she  is ;  an'  her  fate  's  as  soppin'  wet  as  iver  they  can 
be,  wid  the  thahin'  snow.  I  've  got  her  by  the  stove,  an'  the 
quair  gintleman 's  tellin' her  the  crackin'est  stories!  But  she's 
ahl  in  the  fidgets  to  see  Mi.ss  Charlotte;  an'  she'll  not  be  thinkin' 
of  her  soakin'  fate,  nor  nothin'  at  ahl,  a  bit !  " 

Etty's  large  forehead  and  pale  face  emerged  from  the  eclipse  of 
Bridget's  shoulder.  Mrs.  Dunbury  called  her,  and  she  came 
eagerly  into  the  room.  "  I  want  to  see  Miss  Woods !  Is  she  in 
her  chamber  ?  Can  I  go  and  find  her  ?  " 

"  Sit  down,  my  dear  child,  and  Bridget  will  speak  to  her  for 
you.  How  wet  your  dress  is !  " 

"  Yes  —  and  I  must  go  right  back  !  "  Etty  began  to  cry.  "  I 
wouldn't  care,  but  I  don't  know  what  my  mother  will  say!  I 
was  at  my  cousins'  —  I  had  something  to  tell  Miss  Woods  —  0, 
if  you  will  let  me  go  and  find  her !  I  know  her  room  !  " 

The  invalid  gave  her  consent,  and  the  child  hastened  to  climb 
the  chamber-stairs,  and  knock  with  her  trembling  hand  at  Char- 
lotte's door.  Then,  having  thrust  Bridget  from  the  room,  Mr. 
Dunbury  stood  fuming  before  the  invalid's  lounge. 

"  I  '11  know  the  rest !  Who  are  my  son's  connections  ?  Who 
is  this  adventuress  ?  Is  she  so  much  worse  than  a  beggar,  that 
you  dare  not  speak?  Is  she  some  creature  who  has  first  brought 
shame  upon  her  own  family,  then  upon  mine  ?  Has  Hector  gone 
to  appease  the  anger  of  an  outraged  parent,  or  the  vengeance  of  a 
dishonored  husband?  Has  the  name  of  Dunbury  come  to  this?  " 

"  It  is  well  for  you,  sir,  to  speak  of  the  name  of  Dunbury !  — 
you,  who  have  done  so  much  for  it !  " 

The  words  pierced  and  stung.  The  proud  Englishman  writhed 
a  moment,  then  burst  forth  with  redoubled  fury.  In  the  very 
hurricane  of  his  speech,  the  door  was  again  opened.  Charlotte 
sntorod.  She  wis  \vrv  pale,  her  lips  were  colorless,  her  eyes 


FLIGHT.  273 


looked  wild  and  strange.  She  had  on  her  bonnet  and  shawl,  as  il 
for  a  journey. 

"  Charlotte  !  "  the  invalid  cried  out. 

"  Will  you  let  Cornelius  carry  me  over  Wild  River  in  the 
sleigh?" 

"  My  child !  where  are  you  going  ?  " 

"  I  could  walk,"  said  Charlotte,  —  "  but  there  is  water  around 
the  bridge :  beyond  that,  I  shall  need  no  assistance." 

The  invalid  saw  Etty's  frightened  face  behind  the  door.  Some- 
thing like  the  truth  flashed  upon  her.  She  glanced  despairingly 
from  Charlotte  to  her  husband. 

"  Cornelius  can  go  —  can  he  not  —  to  the  river  —  " 

"  To  the  river,  —  to  the  end  of  creation  !  " 

Charlotte  spoke  a  hasty  word  of  thanks,  which  died  in  her 
throat,  and  hurried  from  the  room.  Mrs.  Dunbury  followed  to 
the  hall.  A  few  incoherent  and  terrified  words  passed  between 
them  ;  and  Charlotte,  bursting  from  the  other's  trembling  embrace, 
went  swiftly  from  the  house.  Bridget  was  calling  Corny,  but 
no  Corny  appeared. 

"  0,  Bridget,  I  cannot  wait !  —  I  will  walk  !  " 

"  He  's  gahn  ahf  wid  the  quair  gintleman,"  scolded  Bridget. 
"  But  I  can  be  tacklin'  the  boss  for  ye,  —  if  that 's  ahl,  —  an' 
dhrive  ye  ahf,  into  the  bargain." 

"  0  !  "  said  Charlotte,  "  if  you  will !  " 

"  Let  me  help  !  "  cried  Etty. 

"No,  child  !  —  stay  with  Mrs.  Dunbury.  And  may  God  bless 
you,  my  dear,  dear  Etty  !  " 

Bridget  preceded  Charlotte  to  the  barn.  This  was  a  species 
of  stable  and  wagon-house  combined,  with  two  doors  on  the 
side  of  the  street,  and  with  light  and  space  within  to  harness  a 
team. 

"  Wat  n'i.se  was  that  ?  "  asked  Bridget,  standing  agape  at  the 
entrance  of  the  smaller  door. 

"  Bridget,"  said  Charlotte,  with  singular  earnestness,  "  I  believe 
you  love  me !  " 

"  Ye  may  well  say  that  same,  Miss  Charlotte  !  Ye  's  the  very 
fust  Yankee  woman  iver  I  —  " 


274  FLIGHT. 


"  Good,  Bridget !  I  knew  it  was  so !  And  now  that  I  have 
only  you  to  depend  upon,  you  will  —  you  will  help  me,  I  am  sure!" 

Bridget  pledged  herself  with  true  Hibernian  enthusiasm.  "  But 
what  shall  I  be  afther  doin'  for  a  beginnin'?" 

"  Get  out  the  horse  !     Do  not  waste  a  minute  !  " 

"  Howly  Mither  !  there  's  that  n'ise  again  !  It 's  somebody 
that 's  been  murthered  !  "  It  was  a  muffled  cry,  that  appeared  to 
proceed  from  the  direction  of  the  granary. 

"  It  is  Cornelius,"  said  Charlotte. 

"The  owl!"  cried  Bridget ;  "  he's  been  lockin'  himself  up,  wid 
the  kay  on  the  outside !  " 

"  Open  for  him  !     0,  be  quick !  " 

"  But  what  if  he  should  n't  be  Carny  ?  What  if  he  's  only  pur  • 
tendin'  to  be  there,  an'  it 's  a  robber  afther  ahl  ?  'T  would  be  jist 
one  o'  Carny's  thricks  !  " 

The  cries  increased.  Corny  began  to  kick  and  pound.  There 
could  be  no  doubt  concerning  his  identity.  Still,  Bridget  was 
cautious,  and  Charlotte  unlocked  the  door.  Corny  came  out, 
rubbing  his  eyes,  and  winking  at  the  light. 

"  Ye  're  a  pooty  feller,  to  be  alluz  lockin'  yerself  up  when  ye  're 
wanted  !  "  exclaimed  the  indignant  Bridget.  "  Coom  an'  be  afihcr 
he! pin'  wid  the  harness." 

"  I  did  n't  lock  myself  up  !  I  went  in  arter  some  oats  for  ol' 
Maj.,  when  that  con — founded  —  "  The  speech  was  interrupted, 
Corny  stumbling  over  a  measure,  and  sprawling  upon  the  floor. 
"  I  swan  !"  —  gathering  himself  up,  slowly,  —  "  if  there  an't  that 
'ere  half-bushel,  't  I  was  lookin'  fur,  when  that  chap  that  broke  the 
saw  come  an'  shet  the  door  on  to  me,  an'  locked  me  in !  I  'd  like 
to  find  him  once,  —  arter  I  git  the  oats  !  " 

Charlotte  entreated  Corny  to  leave  the  oats,  and  assist  in  put 
ting  the  horse  -before  the  cutter. 

"  Which  hoss  did  Mist'  Dunbury  tell  ye  to  take?" 

"  Ould  Maj.,  av  coorse,"  replied  Bridget.  "D'ye  think  I'd 
bo  drivin'  the  brute  that  rips  up  the  wagons?  " 

"  You !  a  good  'eal  you  '11  drive  !  B'sides,  Maj.  had  n't  oughter 
go  till  he 's  had  his  oats." 

The  delay  was  torturing  to  Charlotte     The  close  air  of  the  bara 


FLIGHT. 


stifled  her ;  all  things  grew  dark  around  her,  and  she  groped  her 
way  to  the  door.  Supporting  herself  by  the  beam,  she  breathed 
the  open  air,  and  felt  the  cold  dashing  of  the  eaves  upon  her 
neck.  A  sound  of  hoofs  and  runners  startled  her.  She  looked 
up.  Three  men  in  a  sleigh  were  driving  into  the  yard.  They 
stopped ;  two  of  them  jumped  out,  and  entered  the  house  by  the 
front  door ;  the  third  remained  without. 

One  of  those  men  Charlotte  knew.  The  sight  of  him  sent  a 
chill  through  her  veins.  Cold  drops  started  upon  her  brow,  as 
she  shrank  back,  trembling,  into  the  obscurity  of  the  barn.  Just 
then  there  was  a  shout  of  laughter;  and  some  person,  who  had 
lain  concealed  in  the  cutter,  leaped  up,  shaking  the  buffalo-robes 
with  frantic  glee.  Bridget  ran  shrieking  to  the  door. 

"Edward  —  Bridget  —  "  gasped  Charlotte. 

"  Faix,"  cried  Bridget,  "  I  was  spreadin'  up  the  skin  in  the  cut- 
ter, when  out  he  jumps  from  under  it,  like  the  divil  he  is  iutirely!  " 

"  0  .  be  still !  "  said  Charlotte,  <l  or  I  am  lost !  " 

"  Ha !  conspirators !  "  ejaculated  Edward,  bounding  from  the 
sleigh.  "  There  shall  be  one  capital  crime  :  that  of  high  treason. 
The  punishment  shall  be  strangling,  and  here  are  the  clutches!" 

—  showing  his  hooked   fingers,  as  he  sprang  towards   the  door. 
"  Let  the  tiger  tickle  them  !  " 

Charlotte  stopped  him  ;  she  clung  to  him ;  she  breathed  out  her 
fears ;  she  implored  him  to  hear  her,  to  aid  her.  He  struck  his 
forehead  with  his  hand. 

"  Stratagem  !  Your  majesty  shall  be  saved  !  After  that,  the 
execution.  Leave  all  to  the  prime  minister!  " 

"  But  —  EJward  —  what  will  you  do  ?  " 

His  reply  was  clear  and  rapid.  It  showed  a  sharp,  shrewd  wit, 
which  gleamed  li,  3  a  lightning-flash  on  Charlotte's  bewildered 
brain.  His  plan  was  a  wild  one ;  but  in  it  lay  her  only  hope  ; 
and,  adopting  it  desperately,  she  entreated  Corny  and  Bridget  to 
obey  and  assist  him. 

"  Darned  if  I  know  the  fust  thing  —  "  began  Corny. 

"  Be  valiant,"  cried  Edward,  "  and  it  shall  be  revealed.  Go  to 
the  gate,  and  the  instant  we  pass,  shut  it  after!  —  Lady  Bridget, 

—  this  way  '  " 


276  FLIGHT. 


Ktty  glided  into  the  barn.  "  They  have  come !  "  she  uttered, — 
"the  same  man  who  was  in  the  room  last  night  —  I  knew  his 
voice !  0,  make  haste !  " 

The  traces  were  hooked ;  Corny  was  at  the  gate ;  the  large 
door  was  thrown  open ;  then  Edward,  leaping  into  the  sleigh  by 
his  companion's  side,  threw  the  buffalo-robe  over  her,  and  drove 
headlong  out  of  the  barn.  Shaking  the  reins,  and  lushing  the 
horse  with  the  whip,  he  passed  the  sleigh  in  the  yard,  went 
through  the  gate,  grazing  the  post  with  the  runner,  and  plied, 
with  furious  speed,  towards  Wild  River. 

The  man  left  in  charge  of  the  sleigh  shouted  the  alarm,  and 
sprang  to  his  seat.  Fortunately  the  span  was  headed  the  wrong 
way,  and,  before  he  could  turn  their  faces  towards  the  road,  Corny 
had  had  time,  in  his  moderate  manner,  to  close  the  gate.  The 
obstacle  brought  the  sleigh  to  a  sudden  halt. 

"  Open,  there  !  "  cried  the  driver. 

"  Who  said  so  ?  "  muttered  Corny. 

"  Open  the  gate  !  "  thundered  the  man,  shaking  his  whip. 

"  Tell  me  agin,  then  mabby  I  '11  hear,"  said  Corny,  in  an  under 
tone,  taking  care  to  get  beyond  reach  of  the  lash.  The  man 
jumped  out,  making  a  cut  at  Corny  as  he  passed.  The  whistling 
of  the  whip  started  the  horses  ;  and,  springing  forward,  they  ran 
the  neap  against  the  gate.  "  So  much  for  snappin'  yer  w*iip  !  " 
said  Corny,  with  a  grin.  "  You  '11  have  to  back  up  now,  or  you 
can't  git  the  gate  open." 

"  Smash  through  it!  "  exclaimed  a  terrible  voice,  so  near  Cor- 
ny's  ear,  that  he  jumped  as  if  he  had  been  struck.  It  was  one  of 
the  men  from  the  house.  He  leaped  into  the  sleigh,  and  gathered 
up  the  reins.  "  Cl'ar  the  track,  Jones!  I'll  go  over  that  gate 
as  if  it  was  shingles !  " 

"  Hold  on,  Dicks'n !  "  cried  the  other.  'T  will  be  cheaper  to 
open  it ! " 

"  Out  o'  the  way  !  "  shouted  Dickson.  "No  time  for  fool'n'! 
Give  us  the  whip  — jump  on  !  " 

He  struck  the  horses  smartly.  With  a  bound  they  brought  the 
neap  once  more  against  the  gate.  The  frame  splintered,  and  they 
went  over  with  a  crash.  The  off-horse,  however,  unused  to  such 


FLIGHT.  277 

business,  shied  in  passing,  and  forced  the  point  of  the  runner 
against  the  post.  Another  dead  halt;  the  men  cursing,  the 
horses  trembling  and  cringing,  Corny  grinning  at  a  safe  distance. 
As  it  was  out  of  the  question  to  think  of  serving  the  gate-post  as 
they  had  served  the  gate,  the  men  found  themselves  obliged  to 
follow  Cornv's  original  advice,  "and  "  back  up."  This  was  no  easy 
mutter,  with  the  horses'  legs  entangled  in  the  wreck.  They  kicked 
and  flung,  threatening  to  tear  both  harness  and  sleigh  to  pieces. 
But  at  last  the  fragments  of  the  gate  were  either  trodden  dowu  or 
thrown  out  of  the  way  ;  the  sleigh  was  cleared  ;  and  Dickson  and 
his  companion,  jumping  aboard,  described  a  swift  circle  into  the 
road,  making  the  watery  snow  fly  from  the  runners  as  they  swept 
around,  and  dashed  away  in  pursuit  of  the  fugitives. 

Old  Maj.  was  no  racer;  but  Edward  exerted  himself  so  well  to 
develop  his  latent  speed,  that  the  cutter  had  already  passed  from 
sight  over  the  hill.  Arrived  at  the  summit,  Dickson  and  his  com- 
panion beheld  the  fugitives  splashing  through  the  sluggish  currents 
of  water  that  crept  around  the  bridge  of  Wild  River;  and  a  min 
ute  later  old  Maj.  was  seen  making  vigorous  leaps  up  the  steep 
road  that  led  into  the  woods.  By  the  time  the  pursuers  had 
reached  the  bridge,  Edward  and  his  companion  had  once  more 
disappeared. 

Through  the  water  and  slush  dashed  the  horses  and  sleigh. 
Dickson  and  his  friend  were  bespattered  from  head  to  foot.  Often 
the  horses  slumped  through  the  hard-packed  bed  of  the  road,  and 
threw  up  heavy  clods,  endangering  their  own  limbs,  and  the  eyes 
and  features  of  the  men.  But  Dickson  held  the  reins  and  wielded 
the  whip  ;  Dickson  cared  neither  for  the  horses,  his  friend,  nor  him- 
fcelf ;  his  only  thought  was  to  overtake  the  fugitives,  at  every  risk. 

Old  Maj.  was  no  match  for  the  strong,  spirited  span ;  and  by 
the  time  the  pursuers  came  again  in  sight,  he  was  beginning  to 
flag,  notwithstanding  Edward's  efforts  to  keep  up  his  courage  with 
the  whip.  Escape  by  direct  means  became  hopeless.  As  a  last 
resort,  the  fugitives  turned  aside  into  a  rough  lumber-track,  thai 
wound  through  the  woods.  But  a  worse  route  could  scarce  have 
been  chosen.  Mounting  a  snow-covered  acclivity,  they  reached  an 
impassable  chasm,  filled  with  huge,  heaped,  massive  rocks,  around 
24 


278  FLIGHT. 


the  icy  bed  of  Wild  River.  Seeing  retreat  thus  cut  off,  Edward 
abandoned  the  track,  and  struck  out  among  the  trees  on  the  bank. 
But  the  snow  still  lay  heavy  in  those  gloomy  regions.  The  runners 
cut  deep ;  it  was  no  easy  matter  to  avoid  the  roots  and  trunks,  and 
little  progress  had  been  made,  when  the  horses  of  the  pursuers  came 
bounding  up  the  acclivity,  and,  wheeling  among  the  trees,  dashed 
alongside  the  cutter,  just  at  a  moment  when  it  was  arrested  by  thu 
bristling  tops  of  a  fallen  cedar.  Dickson  jumped  into  the  snow, 
an,d  scrambled  to  seize  his  prey. 

"  Destiny  in  a  tree-top  !  "  ejaculated  Edward.  "  Let  the  vul- 
tures rage  !  I  put  my  faith  in  the  humming-bird.  Come  on  !  " 

"  We  '11  come  on  fast  enough  !  "  cried  Jones.  "  And  jest  you 
keep  quiet,  or  you  '11  git  pitch-bowled  down  them  'ar  rocks,  like  a 
cobble-stone  !  Make  sure  of  her,  Dicks'n  !  " 

"  Wai,  I  reck'n  !  "  muttered  Dickson,  with  gloating  deliberation. 
"  When  I  once  get  my  eyes  on  a  gal,  it 's  as  good  as  a  bear-hug ! 
Here  ye  be,  my  perty  !  " 

"Hang  on  !  "  exclaimed  Jones.  "  If  she  'd  been  spunky  as  some 
gals  be,  she  'd  made  a  desprit  push  over  them  'ar  rocks ;  it 's  what 
I  was  'fraid  of.  I  'm  much  obleeged  to  her,  for  my  part." 

"  We  '11  have  a  general  thanksgiving  ! "  said  Dickson,  with 
brutal  satisfaction.  "  One  live  gaf  is  worth  a  gang  of  dead  ones. 
O,  you  're  safe  ;  don't  squirm  ;  't  an't  no  use  !  Show  us  yer  face, 
my  honey  !  " 

He  pulled  down  the  buffalo-robe,  and  pulled  up  the  bonnet , 
then  attempted  to  lift  the  head  of  his  struggling  captive. 

"  The  Wise  Men  triumphant !  "  exclaimed  Edward.  "  The  dove 
was  a  jackdaw,  and  the  cat  pounced  upon  her  own  paws  !  Look- 
to  the  feathers  !  " 

"^What  's  the  row  ?  "  cried  Jones,  rushing  to  the  spot. 

Edward  danced,  and,  flinging  his  hat  into  a  tree,  made  the  woods 
ring  with  his  maniacal  laugh. 

Dickson  dropped  the  bonnet ;  loosed  his  hold  of  the  buffalo  ; 
stood,  stared,  —  his  face  a  picture  of  mingled  stupefar-tion  and 
fury,  —  as,  struggling  through  a  large  quantity  of  tangled  hair, 
giggling  and  gasping,  appeared  the  round,  red,  ludicrous  features 
of —  BHII>GKT  ! 


XXXI1L 

HOUSELESS. 

"Titt  law,  Mrs.  Dunbury,"  said  Oliver  Dole,  with  the  grimace 
of  authority,  "the  LAW  must  be  put  in  force.  It  is  a  paiutul 
duty  we  have  to  perform,  —  but,  then,  you  know,  the  LAW  !  " 

He  was  a  gaunt,  bony  individual,  with  a  hooked  nose,  and  a 
massive  nether  jaw.  He  was  the  third  person  of  Dickson's  party, 
being  an  officer  resident  in  the  county,  who  had  been  selected  to 
give  character  and  dignity  to  the  enterprise.  A  fitter  choice  could 
hardly  have  been  made.  The  man  was  sunk  in  the  officer  ;  the 
waters  of  human  feeling  were  in  him  congealed  into  the  fixed,  un- 
swerving ice  of  public  conscience.  But  Mrs.  Dunbury  was  a  mere 
woman.  She  fondly  believed  that  the  elements  of  love  and  mercy 
enthroned  in  the  heart  were  a  law  above  all  laws.  When  Dick- 
fcon  and  his  companion  rushed  in  pursuit  of  the  cutter,  she  clung 
to  Oliver  Dole.  With  clasped  hands,  with  sobs  and  tears,  she 
pleaded  for  Charlotte. 

"  She  is  a  being  like  one  of  us  !  She  has  all  human  attributes 
and  feelings!  She  is  a  woman  —  a  wife  —  my  son's  wife;  my 
own  beloved  child  !  Do  not  subject  her  to  the  ignominy,  the 
horror,  the  death,  of  such  an  ordeal.  If  money  can  satisfy  the 
claims  upon  her,  they  shall  be  satisfied.  Even  now  my  son  has 
gone  to  treat  for  her.  Spare  her,  spare  him,  spare  us,  this  terri- 
ble exposure !  You  are  a  man,  a  citizen';  it  is  in  your  power  to 
cave  her ! " 

"  Mrs.  Dunbury,"  responded  Oliver  Dole,  with  an  official  smack 
of  his  lips,  "  nothing  is  in  my  power  that  is  not  the  law.  I  can- 
not be  detained  from  my  duty  ;  and  I  charge  you,  Mrs.  Dunbury, 
not  to  resist  the  law  !  " 


280  HOUSELESS. 


Still  she  clung  to  him.  She  seemed  endowed  with  a  strength 
above  her  own.  She  would  not  loose  her  hold. 

"  Mr.  Dunbury  !  "  cried  Oliver  Dole,  "  I  appeal  to  you  !  " 

Mr.  Dunbury  stood  by,  a  picture  of  apoplectic  rage.  His  faca 
was  purple,  his  eyes  blood-shot,  the  muscles  of  his  mouth  and 
throat  moved  convulsively.  He  heeded  the  officer  no  more  than 
the  eaves  that  dripped.  The  latter  wrenched  away  the  invalid's 
hands,  and  she  fell  upon  the  floor. 

"  Mr.  Dunbury,"  then  said  Oliver  Dole,  "  I  anticipated  nothing 
of  this  •  and  now  I  call  upon  you  for  support  in  the  g^rformance 
of  my  duty.  If  the  girl  escapes,  this  resistance  may  cost  you 
dear.  If  you  have  a  horse  in  your  stable,  I  will  take  it,  and 
follow  on." 

No  word  from  Mr.  Duubury  ;  but,  with  a  look  of  strangulation, 
—  clutching  his  breast  as  if  to  free  his  lungs,  —  he  strode  over  his 
wife's  prostrate  form,  and  followed  the  officer  from  the  room.  At 
the  entrance  to  the  barn  stood  Etty,  white  and  trembling.  It  was 
well  the  stanch  Oliver  did  not  observe  the  look  she  gave  him,  as 
he  stepped  into  the  stall  of  the  remaining  horse.  A  gleam  of  hope 
and  joy  broke  through  the  pale  anxiety  of  her  features  when  she 
saw  him  untie  the  halter,  and  lead  the  animal  out.  To  slip  on  a 
bridle,  and  leap  upon  the  horse's  back,  was  the  work  of  a  moment 
for  Oliver  Dole  ;  and  an  instant  after,  riding  over  the  broken  gate, 
he  joined  in  the  noble  chase.  Etty  clasped  her  hands,  and  ran 
to  Mr.  Dunbury. 

"  Here  she  is !  "  she  uttered,  hurriedly.  "  It  was  Bridget  that 
went  in  the  cutter  !  Be  quick,  and  hide  her  somewhere  !  " 

As  she  spoke,  from  beneath  the  manger  crept  a  pitiful  human 
figure,  slender,  bent,  and  trembling  with  excessive  fear.  It  was 
Charlotte.  She  tottered  forward,  and  fell  down  at  Mr.  Dunbury's 
feet.  As  she  covered  her  face  from  his  sight,  one  might  have  seen 
that  her  hand  was  wounded  and  bloody.  Oliver  Dole  had  crushed 
it  with  his  iron  heel,  in  leading  the  horse  from  the  stall.  It  was 
doubtful  if  she  had  felt  the  pain  at  the  time.  Certainly  she  was 
insensible  tc  it  now ;  but  Etty  cried  out  with  pity  at  the  sight. 

"  0,  Mr.  Dunbury  !  "  said  the  child,  "  what  can  she  do  ?  Don't 
let  them  take  he"  away  !  " 


HOUSELESS.  281 


No  word  yet  from  Mr.  Dunbury ;  none  from  Charlotte ;  but 
shrinkingly  she  knelt  there,  as  if  it  was  his  wrath  alone  she  feared, 
and  only  his  forgiveness  she  implored. 

"  0,  Charlotte  !  "  cried  Etty,  trying  to  lift  her  up  ;  "  there  ia 
some  place  where  they  cannot  find  you  !  Come  !  0,  sir,  why  do 
you  let  her  be  here  ?  " 

Mr.  Dunbury  raised  his  remorseless  arm.  "Begone!"  —  hia 
words  flamed  and  hissed  with  fury,  —  "  lose  yourself,  drown  your- 
self, I  care  not,  —  but  BEGONE  !  " 

Charlotte  arose  and  fled. 

There  was  a  cow-path  trodden  through  the  snow,  leading  across 
the  meadows,  over  the  bridge  and  along  the  banks  of  the  stream. 
This  path  Charlotte  took  ;  passing  in  her  flight  scenes  which  she 
had  first  visited  in  company  with  Hector,  and  which  had  become 
linked  in  her  memory  with  warm  and  dear  associations.  But  now 
how  changed,  how  cold,  how  desolate,  were  they  all !  The  snow 
lay  heavy  and  deep  on  the  interval ;  the  willows  were  naked  and 
dark  ;  the  stream  was  blocked  with  ice.  Beyond,  frowned  the 
inhospitable  forest  on  the  mountain  side.  The  heavens  above 
were  leaden,  with  grayish  streaks ;  and  now  the  slow,  dull,  wintry 
rain  began  to  fall. 

Beyond  the  bridge,  the  track  threw  out  branches  in  several 
directions ;  for  here,  all  winter  long,  Mr.  Dunbury's  cattle  and 
sheep  had  been  foddered  from  the  stacks  in  the  valley.  But  the 
main  path  led  along  the  banks  of  the  creek  ;  this  Charlotte  chose, 
perhaps  because  among  the  willows  her  flight  would  be  concealed, 
or  it  may  be  that  she  cherished  some  half-formed  design  of  reach- 
ing Mr.  Jackwood's  house. 

But  the  way  was  rude  and  diflicult  for  her  unaccustomed  feet. 
Since  the  thaw,  the  track  had  been  broken  through  by  sharp  hoofs ; 
water  had  settled  in  the  low  places ;  and  often,  slipping  upon  the 
icy  cakes,  she  fell,  hurting  her  naked  hands,  bruising  her  limbs, 
and  saturating  her  garments  in  the  pools.  Then,  palpitating  and 
breathless  from  the  shock,  she  would  pause,  and  glance  up  and 
down  the  wide,  white  valley,  with  fearful  looks,  as  if  expecting 
momently  to  see  her  pursuers  appear. 

A  glimpse  she  caught  of  Mr.  Jackwood's  house  in  the  distanca 
24* 


282  HOUSELESS. 


inspired  her  with  courage  to  keep  on.  She  saw  the  rcd-painttO 
kitchen  dimly  defined  upon  the  field  of  snow  ;  the  trees  and  fences 
speckling  the  ground ;  the  heavy  plume  of  smoke  from  the  chim- 
ney, trailing  low  across  the  plain  ;  and  a  vision  of  hope,  and 
help,  and  rest,  in  that  humble  home,  flitted  before  her  mind.  But 
the  path  by  the  willows  had  now  dwindled  to  a  scarcely -trod  Jen 
track.  At  each  step,  her  feet  sank  down  in  the  soft,  wet  snow. 
Her  efforts  to  proceed  cost  all  her  remaining  strength.  Only  the 
desperate  extremity  in  which  she  was  sustained  her.  But  hope 
and  fear  alike  failed  her  at  last ;  and,  having  climbed  the  tangled 
brush  of  a  valley  fence,  she  fell  powerless  in  the  snow,  upon  the 
other  side. 

The  short  winter's  day  was  drawing  to  a  close.  The  shades  of 
the  solemn  hills  shut  in  the  plain.  A  dreary  silence  reigned, 
broken  only  by  the  lowing  of  cattle,  and  the  faint,  sad  bleating 
of  sheep  in  the  distance,  the  sighing  of  the  wind  among  the  wil- 
lows, and  the  melancholy  drip  of  the  rain.  Having  got  a  little 
rest,  Charlotte  summoned  her  energies  for  a.  fresh  attempt  to 
traverse  the  snowy  track.  But  now  formidable  doubts  stood  in  her 
way.  She  had  faith  in  her  old  friends ;  but  would  Mr.  Jackwood's 
house,  which  had  twice  received  her  in  its  hospitable  retreat,  be 
overlooked  by  her  pursuers  ?  Perhaps  already  they  wSre  there, 
before  her ;  and  to  proceed  might  be  to  fall  at  once  into  their 
hands.  In  her  deep  perplexity,  she  crept  under  the  fence,  with 
a  wild  thought  of  passing  the  night  in  that  wretched  place.  But 
the  rain  beat  upon  her  still ;  her  bruised  hands  ached  from  contact 
with  the  snow ;  and  her  feet  were  drenched  and  cold. 

The  approach  of  footsteps  startled  her ;  but  she  dared  not  look 
around,  nor  move ;  she  lay  still  as  death  in  her  retreat.  The 
sounds  drew  near,  and  presently  a  dog  began  to  bark,  plunging 
into  the  snow,  close  by  where  she  lay. 

"  Come  here,  Rove  !  "  cried  an  authoritative  voice. 

It  was  the  voice  of  Abimelech  Jackwood,  the  younger.  The 
dog  ran  back,  with  excited  yelps,  and  jumped  upon  his  arm  ;  then 
rushed  to  the  attack  again,  bristling  up,  and  barking  furiously  at 
the  object  by  the  fence.  Charlotte  spoke,  "  Hover  !  "  Instantly 
he  sprang  towards  her,  with  a  joyous  demonstration  ;  hesitated  at 


HOUSELESS.  283 


half  way,  and  ran  back  again  to  his  master ;  whisked  about  in  the 
snow ;  and  finally,  having  fulfilled  all  the  requirements  of  canin« 
etiquette  on  the  occasion,  leaped  upon  her  lap,  wagging  his  tail 
violently,  caressing  her  with  his  feet,  and  licking  her  wounded 
hand. 

Abimelech  stood  at  a  discreet  distance,  and  cried  to  Rover  to 
come  there.  Charlotte  arose  to  her  feet,  and  called  his  name. 

"  Hello  !  "  cried  Bim  ;   "  that  you  ?  " 

She  tottered  forward.  The  boy,  not  so  easily  satisfied  as  the 
dog,  showed  a  disposition  to  retire.  But,  in  a  few  huraed  words, 
she  gave  him  to  understand  that  she  was  no  apparition,  —  that  it 
was  indeed  Charlotte  who  spoke  to  him,  —  and  that  he  was  not  to 
fear,  but  to  aid  her. 

"  Be  ye  goin'  up  to  the  house  ?  "  asked  the  boy. 

"  Abimelech,  some  men  are  hunting  for  me !  I  would  rather 
die  than  have  them  find  me  !  And  I  don't  know  where  to 
go  !  " 

"  Who  be  they  ?  "  demanded  Bim,  with  forced  courage,  looking 
around.  "  I  '11  set  Rover  on  to  'em  !  Here  !  " 

"  Where  is  your  father  ?  " 

"  Up  to  the  house,  I  guess,"  replied  Bim. 

"  Will  you  go  for  him,"  said  Charlotte ;  "  and  tell  him  I  am 
here,  and  tell  no  one  else  ?  " 

"  Yes,  I  '11  go  ! "  cried  Bim.  "  But," —  hesitatingly,  —  "  had  n't 
you  better  go  up  to  the  stack,  and  wait  there  ?  I  'd  ruthcr  ye 
would ;  I  come  down  here  to  fodder  the  steers  and  lambs;  and 
father  teld  me  not  to  go  and  look  at  my  muskrat-trap,  'cause  't  was 
goin'  to  rain.  It 's  righ'  down  here ;  an'  if  he  knows  where  I  found 
ye,  he  '11  s'pect  I  was  goin'  there." 

Charlotte  accepted  the  boy's  guidance ;  and  immediately  around 
the  bend  in  the  creek,  they  came  in  sight  of  the  stack.  It  was  a 
low,  gloomy  mass,  in  the  midst  of  a  dark,  trodden  space,  around 
the  edges  of  which  appeared  Abimelech's  steers  and  lambs,  feed- 
ing on  wisps  of  hay  he  had  scattered  over  the  snow.  The  stack 
was  defended  by  a  fence,  on  one  side  of  which  was  a  temporary 
shelter,  formed  of  rails  and  boards,  thatched  with  straw. 

1  If  you  'd  like  to  hide,"  observed  Bim,  "  I  know  a  place,  — 


284  HOUSELESS. 


only  I  don't  want  father  to  find  it  out,  for  he  tells  me  not  to  le 
makin'  holes  in  the  stack." 

"  Is  it  here?" 

"  I  '11  show  ye  !  "  and  Bim,  slipping  a  couple  of  rails  from  theii 
place,  crept  through  the  fence,  and  began  to  pull  away  the  hay 
from  the  stack.  A  dark  cavity  was  exposed.  "  It 's  a  den  I 
made  for  me  an'  Rove !  Once  I  had  a  notion  o'  runnin'  away 
an'  I  was  goin'  to  live  here,  and  have  him  bring  me  my  victuals ! 
It 's  real  slick  an'  warm  in  there  !  " 

The  opening  was  extremely  narrow,  and  the  cavity  itself  was 
small.  But  it  was  all  Charlotte  wished  for  then.  She  could  not 
have  entered  a  palace  with  more  grateful  emotions. 

"  Shall  I  leave  ye  a  breathin'-place  ?  "  asked  Abimelech,  put- 
ting back  the  hay.  "  Hello  !  what 's  that  Rover  's  barkin'  at  ?  " 

He  crept  around  the  stack,  leaving  Charlotte  listening  breath- 
lessly in  her  hiding-place.  In  a  moment  he  returned,  and  whis- 
pered hoarsely  in  the  bay,  "  There  's  a  man  a  comin'  with  a  big 
hoss-whip  !  Say  !  is  he  one  of  'em  ?  " 

Charlotte  knew  not  what  she  said,  if  indeed  she  uttered  any 
reply.  She  heard  the  boy  hastily  smoothing  the  hay  at  the 
entrance  of  her  cell;  then  all  was  still,  only  the  dog  barked;  and 
as  she  strained  her  ear  to  listen,  the  straw  beneath  her  rustled 
with  every  throb  of  her  heart. 

Having  climbed  the  stack,  and  thrown  down  a  quantity  of  hay 
before  the  mouth  of  the  cavity,.  Bim  began  to  arrange  some 
boards  in  a  manner  to  shed  rain. 

"  Git  out !  "  growled  the  man  with  the  whip,  making  a  cut  at 
the  dog. 

"  He  won't  bite  ye,"  cried  Bim.     "  Here,  Rove  !  " 

"  Say,  boy  !  have  ye  seen  anybody  pass  this  way,  within  half  an 
hour  or  so  ?  " 

"  Pass  which  way?" 

"  Any  way  —  along  by  the  crick." 

"  What  crick  ?  " 

'•'  Answer  my  question  !  " 

"  I  han't  ben  here  half  an  hour,  I  should  n't  think,"  said 
Bim. 


HOUSELESS.  285 


"  Look  a'  here  !  "  thundered  Dickson,  "  none  o'  yet  trash  with 
me  !  I  cut  a  boy's  trouse's-legs  right  off  with  this  black  snake, 
t'  other  day  !  He  was  a  boy  about  your  size,  and  his  trouse's  was 
stouter  stuff  than  yours,  too,  I  reck'n  !  Which  way  did  that  gul 
go?" 

"  What  gal  ?  "  said  Biui,  stepping  cautiously  back  upon  the 
stack. 

"  Let  me  reach  you  with  this  lash,  and  I  '11  tickle  your  recol- 
lections !  You  '11  look  paler  than  that,  when  I  draw  about  a 
quart  of  blood  out  of  ye  !  I  mean  that  gal  that  come  along  about 
twenty  minutes  ago." 

"  If  there  was  any,"  —  Bim  looked  very  candid,  but  very  pale, 
—  "  she  must  a'  come  along  when  I  was  off  arter  my-  traps  ;  or 
else  I  should  think  I  'd  seen  her." 

"  That  won't  do,  boy  !  "  Dickson  cracked  his  whip  savagely. 
"  I  '11  give  ye  jest  about  a  minute  'n'  a  ha'f  to  think  about  it ; 
then,  if  ye  don't  walk  straight  up  to  the  scratch,  and  spit  out 
what  ye  know,  you  may  expect  to  have  your  clo's  cut  right  off  'in 
your  back,  and  your  hide  with  'm  !  " 

Then  Charlotte  heard  a  sound  as  of  some  one  climbing  the 
stack-yard  fence,  and  a  heavy  body  jumped  down  upon  the 
ground  at  the  very  entrance  to  her  retreat.  There  was  a  shaking 
in  the  hay  which  Bim  had  thrown  before  it ;  Dickson  was  kick- 
ing it  open  with  his  foot ;  he  trod  it  down  by  the  stack. 

Bim  looked  anxious,  but  his  wits  did  not  desert  him.  "If 
ye  '11  help  me  with  these  'ere  boards,  I  '11  go  up  to  the  house  with 
ye,  an'  see  if  she  's  been  by  there." 

"  Where  do  you  live  ?  " 

"  In  that  house,  up  yender." 

"  What 's  yer  name  ?  " 

"  Bim !  " 

"  What 's  yer  whole  name  ?  " 

"  Bim'lech  !  "    • 

"  What 's  yer  father's  name  ?  " 

"  His  name  's  Bim'lech,  too  !  " 

"  Bim'lech  what  ?  " 

."  Bim'lech  Jack  wood,  of  course  '  " 


286  HOUSELESS. 


"  Jack  wood,  hey  ?  she  used  to  live  to  your  house,  did  n't  she? 

"  Yes,  I  guess  not !     Who  used  to  ?  " 

"  We  '11  see  !  "  said  Dickson.  Having,  during  the  dialogue 
struck  a  match  under  his  coat  and  lighted  a  cigar,  he  inserted  tin 
latter  between  his  teeth,  and,  once  more  measuring  out  his  whip, 
cracked  it  at  the  boy's  ears.  "  Time  's  up  !  now,  what  ye  got  tc 
say  ?  " 

"  If  you  're  goin'  to  smoke,"  said  Bim,  from  a  safe  position 
"  you  better  git  over  the  fence  ;  you  '11  set  the  stack  afire.  Ow  ! " 
as  the  whip-lash  whistled  by  his  face,  "  you  had  n't  better  hit  me 
with  that !  There  's  father,  an'  I  'm  darned  glad  !  " 

Dickson  changed  his  tactics;  perhaps  because  he  found  threats 
of  no  avail ;  perhaps  because  the  boy  had  an  adroit  way  of  dodg- 
ing over  the  stack  beyond  reach  of  his  whip  ;  or  in  consequence, 
it  may  be,  of  misgivings  with  regard  to  the  parent  Jackwood. 
He  therefore  opened  a  parley,  and  offered  Bim  half  a  dollar  tc 
tell  him  which  way  Charlotte  went. 

"  I  guess  so  !  "  said  Bim.  "  You  want  me  to  come  down  an' 
git  it,  then  you  '11  ketch  me,  an'  gi'  me  a  lickin'  I  know  ! "  And 
he  made  preparations  to  slide  off  the  opposite  side,  in  case  Dick- 
son  attempted  to  climb  the  stack. 

But  Dickson  had  a  more  important  matter  to  attend  to. 
Either  the  match  he  had  thrown  down  after  lighting  his  cigar, 
or  cinders  falling  in  the  hay,  had  set  fire  to  the  heap.  The  flame, 
shooting  up  with  a  sudden  crackling  and  glare,  was  the  first 
warning  he  received  of  the  danger.  He  had  left  the  spot,  and 
was  standing  by  the  cattle-shed,  when  the  blaze  caught  his  eye. 
He  rushed  to  extinguish  it,  stamping,  and  trampling,  and  calling 
to  the  boy  to  bring  snow.  • 

"  There  an't  no  fire !  "  cried  Bim,  who  thought  it  a  ruse  to 
bring  him  down. 

"  By !  "  said  Dickson,  "  you  '11  find  out  whether  there  's  a 

fire ! " 

Already  Charlotte  had  smelt  the  burning  straw.  Then,  through 
ehinks  in  the  opening  of  her  cell,  she  caught  fearful  glimpses  of 
the  struggling  flame  and  smoke.  She  heard  the  alarm,  the  oaths 
the  trample  of  feet.  The  stack  was  burning  ! 


HOUSELESS.  287 


Her  first  impulse  was  to  cry  out,  and  rush  frtui  her  retreat. 
But  the  certainty  of  falling  into  the  hands  of  Dickson  paralyzed 
aer  tongue,  and  chained  her  limbs.  Death  was  nothing ;  a 
moment  since,  she  would  have  risked  a  hundred  deaths  sooner 
than  be  taken ;  but  to  be  burned,  to  perish  in  a  slowly  consuming 
mass,  to  die  by  torment  in  a  tomb  of  fire  !  the  thought  was  mad- 
dening ;  it  filled  her  with  an  insensate  fear,  that  caused  her  for 
the  instant  to  forget  all  other  danger.  With  franiic  hands 
phe  tore  the  hay  that  blocked  the  opening.  But  a  volume  of 
smoke,  pouring  in  upon  her,  changed  her  purpose.  She  thrust 
back  the  hay,  while  at  the  same  time  it  was  trampled  and  packed 
from  without.  She  heard  the  simmer  of  snow  upon  the  flames;  she 
thought  the  fire  was  being  extinguished.  She  hoped,  she  prayed, 
that  she  might  yet  be  preserved. 

But  now  the  trampling  feet,  and  -snow  packed  down  upon  the 
burning  hay,  drove  the  smoke  into  the  cell.  Charlotte  was  suffo- 
cating. The  torture  almost  forced  her  to  cry  out.  0,  that  she 
might  have  power  to  endure  yet  a  little  while  !  She  thought  of 
Hector.  For  his  sake  she  conquered  her  agony.  "Writhing  in 
torment,  she  clasped  her  hands  upon  her  face  to  stifle  her  own 
cries.  Yet  a  little  while  !  yet  a  little  while  !  0,  yet  one  moment 
more ! 

It  could  not  be.  She  fought  with  death  itself.  It  seemed  that 
almost  the  last  struggle,  the  last  mortal  throe,  had  come.  Still 
Hector  filled  her  soul.  She  might  have  endured  and  died  ;  but, 
no  !  for  him  she  would  risk  all  things  ;  for  him  she  would  suffer 
on  ;  for  him  she  would  live  !  Again  she  tore  the  hay  from  the 
opening  of  the  cell.  But  the  act  was  forestalled.  A  hand,  thrust 
in,  met  hers. 

"  Keep  still !  "  whispered  Bim,  at  the  entrance.  "  Can  ye 
breathe?" 

She  breathed,  she  Jived,  she  hoped.  The  fire  was  extinguished. 
Dickson,  enraged  at  the  delay,  had  departed  in  haste,  and  the 
boy  was  left  alone  to  trample  out  the  smouldering  sparks  with 
snow. 

"  Hello,  boy  ! '  suddenly  shouted  Dickson,  turning  back,  "  fling 
me  my  whip  !  " 


HOUSELESS. 

There  was  no  service  Bira  would  more  gladly  have  performed 
Anything  rather  than  that  Diekson  should  return  to  the  stack 
He  looked  for  the  whip,  but  could  not  find  it.  The  man  had 
thrown  it  down  whilst  extinguishing  the  fire,  and  thought  it  must 
have  become  trodden  in  the  hay.  He  returned ;  they  looked  for 
it  together,  —  Bim  keeping  at  a  respectful  distance,  and  holding 
himself  ready  to  run  the  instant  the  whip  appeared,  —  Diekson 
growling  and  swearing.  Suddenly,  the  end  of  the  lash  was  dis- 
covered hanging  off  the  cattle-shed,  close  by  the  stack.  Diekson 
seized  it ;  Abimelech  fled ;  Charlotte,  who  had  listened  all  the 
time  with  a  fluttering  heart,  began  to  breathe  again.  But  at  the 
moment  there  was  a  movement  at  the  mouth  of  the  cell.  The  h:iy 
was  opening  ;  some  object  forced  its  way  into  her  retreat.  She 
was  shrinking  away  in  terror,  when  Rover,  scrambling  through, 
leaped  into  her  face,  and  expressed  his  delight  by  barking  play- 
fully, licking  her  hands,  and  thumping  the  sides  of  the  niche  with 
his  animated  tail. 

Fortunately  Diekson  had  turned  again  to  go,  and  was  at  that 
moment  making  long  strides  across  the  field.  Bim  returned  to 
Charlotte  just  in  time  to  bump  noses  with  Rover,  who,  not 
liking  the  smoke,  was  leaping  out  of  the  hay. 

"  He  's  gone  !  "  whispered  the  boy.  "  Darn  his  old  whip,  I 
say  !  Did  ye  know  he  set  the  stack  afire  ?  " 

"  Did  I  know.it !  "  murmured  Charlotte. 

"  I  'm  all  of  a  tremble  yit !  "  said  Bim.  "  I  was  a  little  bit 
scart ;  but,  confound  his  pictur'  !  he  did  n't  find  ye,  after  all,  did  he'.' 
That 's  all  I  care  for  !  " 

"  And  it 's  all  I  care  for,  now  !  I  feel  faint !  Will  you  give 
me  a  handful  of  snow  ?  " 

The  boy  brought  the  snow :  she  pressed  it  on  her  forehead,  as 
she  lay  panting  upon  the  hay. 

"  Shall  I  go  up  an'  tell  father,  now  ?  " 

"  If  you  will ;  but  be  careful,  let  no  one  else  know — " 

"  I  '11  keep  it  from  Pheeb,  anyway  !  She  always  tells  every- 
thing.  Say  !  shall  I  leave  Rover  for  company  ?  " 

A  faint  "no"  was  the  response  ;  and  the  excited  boy,  having 
thrown  the  superfluous  hay  over  the  fence,  and  reiirranged  that  at 


HOUSELESS.  289 


the  mouth  of  the  cell,  leaving  only  a  breathing-place,  as  he  called 
it,  went  off  whistling,  to  appear  unconcerned.  She  listened  in 
her  retreat ;  the  sounds  grew  faint  and  fainter,  ceasing  at  last ; 
and  she  was  left  alone,  in  darkness  and  silence,  hemmed  in  by  tbe 
low  roof  and  prickly  walls  of  her  cell. 

For  some  minutes  she  lay  still,  and  prayed.  In  that  simple  tfnd 
childlike  act  new  strength  was  given  her,  and  she  was  enabled  to 
think  calmly  of  her  state.  She  took  care  of  her  feet,  removing 
their  wet  covering,  and  drying  them  in  the  warm  hay.  Then, 
finding  that  Abimelech  had  shut  her  in  too  closely,  and  that  the 
air  of  the  cell  was  still  poisoned  with  smoke,  she  moved  the  hay 
from  the  opening,  and  lay  down  upon  it,  where  she  could  look  out 
upon  the  thickening  darkness,  and  listen  to  the  sighing  wind  and 
pattering  rain. 

25 


XXXIV. 

THE   NIGHT. 

THE  night  set  in,  wild  and  stormy.  The  rain  increased,  th« 
gale  blew  fitfully,  the  far-off  forest  roared.  With  her  hands- 
clasped  upon  her  breast,  Charlotte  lay  gazing  out  into  the  dark, 
and  listening  to  the  storm,  until  the  night,  the  wind,  and  the  rain, 
seemed  no  longer  anything  of  themselves,  but  a  part  of  herself, 
and  all  within  her  own  soul. 

"  0,  heaven  !  0,  grief!  0,  love  !  "  were  the  thoughts  that  filled 
her  universe. 

The  last  glimmer  of  day  had  faded,  and  darkness  lay  like  a 
thick  substance  on  the  earth,  when  the  footsteps  she  had  long 
expected  came  plashing  through  the  snow. 

"  Cha'lotte  !  "  said  the  voice  of  Mr.  Jackwood. 

"  I  am  here  !  "  breathed  Charlotte,  with  a  joyous  thrill. 

"  I  've  brought  ye  some  supper,  and  some  dry  stockin's," 
returned  the  farmer.  "  Where  be  ye  ?  " 

"  Here  !  "  and  Charlotte  reached  out  her  hand.  "  0,  Mr. 
Jackwood  !  " 

"It's  a  dre'ful  tejus  night!"  observed  the  farmer,  getting 
down  by  the  stack.  "  I  wish  you  was  safe  to  the  house,  once." 

"  I  wish  I  was  safe  somewhere  !  But  it  is  all  well,  good  Mr. 
Jackwood.  If  I  can  be  kept  concealed  here  — " 

"  Sence  Bim'lech  told  me  o'  the  hole,  I  ben  thinkin',"  said 
the  farmer,  "  't  would  be  as  well.  The  men  have  ben  to  my 
house,  —  two  come  by  the  road,  an'  t'  other  acrost  the  meader ; 
an'  they  '11  be  there  agin,  prob'bly,  for  they  've  got  the  notion 
that  we  know  where  you  be.  Oliver  Dole  was  there,  an' 
they  made  a  s'arch  in  the  barn,  an"  wood-shed,  an'  all  ovei 


THE   NIGHT.  291 


the  house ;  we  could  n't  bender  'em,  an'  I  thought  it  'bout  as 
well  to  let  'em  have  a  good  time  on  't,  long  as  you  wan't  there. 
Take  your  choice,  though,"  added  Mr.  Jackwood ;  "  if  ye  don't 
fancy  stoppin'  here,  I  '11  git  ye  up  to  the  house  some  way,  and  do 
my  best  to  take  care  on  ye,  while  ye  're  there." 

"  Let  me  stay  here  ;  I  would  rather." 

"  How  much  room  ye  got  ?  Dear  me  !  it 's  quite  a  house,  an't 
it?  —  I  never  see  the  beat  o'  that  boy's  mischief!  I  've  told  him, 
time  an'  agin,  not  to  be  makin'  holes  in  the  stacks ;  but  I  guesa 
I  '11  let  him  off  easy,  seein'  it 's  turned  out  so  well  for  you  !  " 

"You  know,"  faltered  Charlotte,  "why  I  am  here?" 

"  I  kind  o'  ketched  a  little  on  't,  from  what  was  said.  But 
never  mind  about  that.  I  'd  as  soon  think  of  givin'  up  my  own 
darter  to  'em  as  you !  " 

Charlotte  held  the  farmer's  hard  and  knotty  hand,  and  kissed  it 
fervently. 

"  You  need  n't  have  no  fears  'bout  me,"  he  continued,  with 
hearty  sympathy.  "  I  guess  Bim'lech  Jackwood  Ml  turn  out  a  pcrty 
sound  kind  o'  wood,  at  heart.  I  told  ye  so,  perhaps  you  recollect, 
the  fust  time  't  ever  I  see  ye  :  't  was  in  one  o'  these  very  meaders, 
but  a  leetle  furder  down.  I  han't  forgot  it,  if  you  have.  Shall 
I  send  word  to  Mist'  Dunb'ry's  folks  't  you  are  here?" 

"  0,  no!  —  unless  —  unless  Hector  comes  home  !  " 

"Wai,  we'll  talk  o'  that  to-morrow.  Mist'  Dunb'ry  '11  be 
harder  'n  ever  on  our  country,  now.  He  's  English;  and  I  don't 
know  't  I  ever  taljced  with  him  in  the  world,  't  he  had  n't  some 
flaw  to  pick  in  our  institutions.  I  've  kep'  up  my  eend  o'  the 
argument  perty  well,  so  fur ;  but  I  guess  he  '11  git  the  start  o'  me 
now.  I  should  think  he  'd  move  heaven  an'  'arth  to  git  you  clear 
What  did  he  say  about  it?  " 

Charlotte's  bosom  heaved,  and  the  farmer  felt  her  tears  fall 
upon  his  hand. 

"  Wai,  never  mind  to-night.  0 !  did  I  tell  ye  little  Etty 
Grinnich  stopped  to  our  house,  on  her  way  hum  ?  That  was  a 
good  joke,  sendin'  the  kidnabbers  arter  Bridget,  while  you  go! 
away !  Wai,  I  don't  know  as  there 's  anything  more,  'less 
yo'i  'd  like  to  have  me  stay  with  ye  a  little  while,  for  company." 


292  THE   NIGUT. 

"  O,  no  !  "  replied  Charlotte.     "The  rain  is  dripping  on  jou." 

"  I  don't  mind  the  rain  a  mite.  Besides,  if  you  'd  like  to  have 
me,  I  '11  git  a  board  off 'm  the  stack,  an'  put  it  down  here;  then 
I  '11  set  an'  talk,  while  you  're  eatin'  your  supper." 

Mr.  Jaokwood  was  going  for  the  board,  but  Charlotte  entreated 
him  to  give  himself  no  more  trouble  and  discomfort  on  her  ac- 
count. "  Wai,  good-night,  then.  You  may  depend  on  seein'  some 
of  us  'arly  in  the  mornin'.  But  it 's  dre'ful  tough,"  added  the 
farmer,  with  compunctions.  "  The  rain  '11  turn  to  snow,  and  it  '11 
freeze  up,  tight  as  a  drum,  'bout  midnight.  I  'm  'fraid  you  '11  be 
cold  here ;  an'  I  d'n'no  but  you  'd  better  go  up  to  the  house, 
arter  all." 

"  No,"  said  Charlotte.  "  You  have  done  all  you  can.  I  wihh 
I  could  thank  you  !  —  but  —  good-night !  " 

"  Wai,  good-night  it  is,  then  !  "  returned  the  farmer.  "  Keep 
up  good  heart  —  (hat 's  all  I  got  to  say.  'T  '11  all  be  right,  — 
't'll  all  be  right, — in  the  eend." 

Mr.  Jack  wood  departed.  Charlotte  listened,  as  his  footsteps 
went  away  in  the  dreary  dark.  Then  she  was  once  more  alone ; 
and  the  storm  beat  still,  and  the  wind  whistled,  and  the  far-off 
forest  roared. 

In  a  thoughtful  mood  the  farmer  tramped  on  through  the  rain 
and  snow.  More  than  once  he  stopped,  and  was  on  the  point  of 
going  back  for  Charlotte.  It  seemed  to  him,  as  he  afterwards 
confessed,  as  though  "  suthin  was  goin'  to  happen ;  "  and  he  could 
not  feel  right  about  leaving  her. 

*"  But  I  '11  push  on  up  to  the  house,"  said  he,  "any  way;  and 
then  see  how  the  weather  acts." 

Arrived,  dripping  wet,  at  the  kitchen,  he  was  astonished  to  find 
a  burly,  low-browed  man  sitting  before  the  stove,  in  an  attitude 
and  with  looks  of  dogged  discontent.  It  was  Dickson,  who,  after 
pretending  to  depart  with  his  companions,  had  returned  to  spend 
the  night  in  the  suspected  house. 

"  Why,  what  does  ail  you,  father?"  said  Mrs.  Jackwood,  in 
the  middle  of  the  night.  "  How  narvous  you  be !  " 

"  I  'm  conRarned  about  Cha'lotte !  "   replied   the  farmer.     "  ] 


THE   NIGHT.  293 


felt  sartin  the  wind  'u'd  git  round  t'  the  north,  and  come  pff  cold, 
'fore  this.  If  it  keeps  on  rainin',  there  '11  be  a  foot  o'  water  on 
the  interval,  by  inornin'." 

"  You  don't  think  the  crick  '11  break  up,  do  ye  ?  " 

"  No ;  't  an't  thawed  enough  for  that,  —  though  the  snow  has 
gone  off  like  smoke  the  last  four-'n'-twenty  hours  !  "  Mr.  Jack- 
wood  tossed  about  sleeplessly  for  an  hour  or  two  longer.  "  I 
guess  I  '11  git  up,"  said  he,  at  length,  "  and  see  how  the  weather 
looks.  It  don't  rain  so  hard  as  it  did,  and  seems  to  me  the  wind 
sounds  colder."  He  put  on  his  clothes,  and  went  out.  "  There  's 
more  rain  fell  than  I  thought  for,"  he  said,  returning  presently. 
"  I  do'no'  'bout  the  crick.  I  guess  I  better  go  down  an'  git 
Cha'lotte  up  to  the  barn,  to  ventur'.  —  If  't  hadn't  been  for  that 
plaguy  kidnabber  !  I  would  n't  begrudge  a  night's  lodgin'  to  the 
wust  enemy  I  got,  but  I  could  a'  turned  him  ou'  doors  into  the 
storm  with  a  good  stomach,  if  there  'd  ben  any  way  of  gittin'  red 
of  him.  I  '11  take  the  hoss  an'  an  umbrel,  an'  I  guess  we  '11  git 
along." 

"  What  was  that?  "  said  Mrs.  Jackwood.  "  I  thought  I  heard 
something  on  the  stairs." 

Mr.  Jackwood  went  to  examine,  and  met  Dickson  coming  softly 
from  the  chamber. 

"  You  're  up  late,"  said  the  latter,  with  a  sinister  smile. 

"  I  should  ruther  say  't  was  airly,"  retorted  the  farmer.  "  D'ye 
want  anything  p'tic'lar  ?  " 

"  I  come  down  to  see  if  I  could  git  a  drink  o'  water." 

"  Wai,  sir,  that  ye  can  have.  The  pump  's  in  here;  't  '11  want 
primin'.  If  you  '11  wait  a  minute,  I  '11  bring  ye  a  glass." 

"  It 's  a  rainy  night,"  observed  Dickson. 

"  Terrible,"  said  Mr.  Jackwood,  plying  the  wheezy  pump. 

"  I  hope  that  gal  an't  out  nowheres  !  "  returned  the  other. 

"  1  hope  not,"  said  the  farmer. 

"  Look  a'  here ! "  exclaimed  Dickson,  in  .an  under-tone ; 
"  I  'm  bent  on  findin'  that  gal ;  and  't  an't  no  use  her  tryiu'  to 
git  away.  Now,  I  tell  ye  what :  it 's  my  opinion  you  knovi 
where  she  is." 

"  I  wish  I  did  !  " 
25* 


294  THE  NIGHT. 


"  I  've  thought  so,  all  along ;  and  I  'm  as  good  as  sure  now. 
You  an't  up  at  four  in  the  mornin1  for  nothin'.  Now,  be  reason'- 
ble,  and  own  up.  It  '11  be  better  for  the  gal,  for  the  job  will  be 
over  with  sooner ;  and  it 's  got  to  coine,  first  or  last.  It  '11  be 
better  for  you,  too,  in  more  senses  than  one.  I  s'pose  you  know 
the  consequences  o'  harborin'  or  concealin'  a  fugitive,  and  resistin' 
the  execubh'n  o'  the  law  ?  Now,  look  a'  here  !  "  Dickson  took  a 
heavy  purse  from  his  pocket,  and  counted  out  some  pieces  of 
money.  "  There 's  fifty  dollars  for  ye,  if  you  'd  like  to  earn  it." 

"'Arn  it?  how?" 

"By  simply  sayin'  three  words  that'll  set  me  on  the  right 
track.  Ye  don't  find  fifty  dollars  in  JjtQ  dirt  every  day." 

"I. should  like  to  find  fifty  dollars  well  enough,"  replied  the 
farmer;  "but  I  do'no'  'bout  pickin'  it  out  o'  jest  that  kind  o' 
dirt — even  s'posin'  I  could." 

Dickson  felt  encouraged.  "  I  '11  make  it  —  le'  me  see  —  sixty, 
seventy,  seventy-five.  Now,  there 's  a  chance  !  Come,"  —  look- 
ing at  his  watch,  —  "  't  won't  pay  to  go  to  bed  agin  to-night,  I 
rcck'n  ;  so,  le's  set  down  and  talk  it  over." 

"  You  '11  have  to  wait  for  me  a  little  while,"  said  the  farmer, 
taking  down  the  lantern. 

"  You  goin'  out  in  the  rain  ?  " 

"  Yes ;  I  got  to  look  to  ray  bosses." 

"  If  that 's  all,"  cried  Dickson,  "  I  '11  go  along  with  ye,  and 
we  111  be  talkin'." 

The  farmer,  exasperated,  felt  an  impulse  to  smash  the  lantern 
in  the  villain's  face.  Dickson  smiled  :  in  that  smile  there  was 
low  cunning  and  surly  determination,  which  showed  that  it  was 
« :;<  less  to  attempt,  either  by  stratagem  or  force,  to  shake  him  off. 

As  they  stood  there,  a  fresh  volley  of  wind  and  rain,  lashing 
the  kitchen  window,  filled  Mr.  Jackwood  with  fresh  anxiety  for 
Charlotte's  safety.  He  hurried  forth,  pulling  the  door  after  him ; 
but  Dickson  wrenched  it  open  with  a  powerful  hand,  and  stalked 
to  his  side. 

"  None  o'  that !  "  he  growled,  taking  the  farmer's  arm.  "  We 
may  as  well  keep  together,  I  reck'n.  I  don't  mind  the  rain." 


XXXV. 

HECTOR'S  JOURNEY. 

IT  was  a  close,  wet  evening.  Rolling  vapors  filled  the  sky.  A 
crowd  was  gathered  by  the  river,  and  a  line  of  slaves,  ranged 
along  the  wharf,  held  pitch-pine  torches  above  their  heads,  to  light 
a  steamer  coming  up  from  the  bay.  Gradually  the  vessel  ap- 
proached, her  slow  wheels  beating  the  water ;  cries  passed  from 
deck  to  wharf;  the  lines  were  flung  out,  and  made  fast  to  the 
ehore  ;  then  came  the  rush  and  bustle  of  landing  —  friends  greet- 
ing friends,  porters  shouldering  luggage,  carriages  and  wagons  in 
attendance,  and  the  flare  of  the  torches  wavering  over  all. 

There  was  one  passenger,  among  the  first  to  land,  who  made 
haste  to  engage  a  hack,  and  rode  away  from  this  animated  and 
picturesque  scene.  As  the  vehicle  rattled  through  the  town,  he 
gazed  listlessly  upon  the  lighted  shops,  the  gay  saloons,  and  the 
glistening,  muddy  walks.  Each  spot  was  familiar  to  his  eye;  but 
how  far-off,  and  cold,  and  idle,  seemed  all  that  life  to  the  world  of 
thought  and  feeling  in  his  own  breast ! 

Suddenly  the  carriage  stopped.  "  What  is  the  trouble?"  —  and 
he  put  his  head  out  of  the  window. 

'•  The  Strikers !  "  said  the  coachman.  Other  vehicles  had 
stopped.  At  the  doors  and  windows  of  houses,  on  the  steps,  on 
the  walks,  appeared  throngs  of  spectators,  presenting  a  variety  of 
complexions,  rather  remarkable  to  an  eye  unaccustomed  to  mixed 
races.  The  music  of  a  band  approaching  floated  upon  the  air ; 
and  Hector,  looking  in  the  direction  towards  which  the  many-hued 
'faces  were  turned,  beheld  a  grotesque  procession.  Then  he  re- 
membered that  it  was  New  Year's  Eve,  the  season  of  masquerades; 
ana  that  the  STRIKERS  were  one  of  the  famous  societies  which,  by 


296  HECTOR'S  JOURNEY. 


their  fantastic  displays  upon  that  anniversary,  make  Mobile  the 
rival  of  Rome  and  Venice  in  their  gay  carnivals. 

A  double  ch  \in  of  torch-bearers,  with  dusky  faces  and  bare 
arras,  like  those  'ipon  the  wharf,  marked  the  line  of  the  proces- 
sion. In  front  burned  the  cabalistic  characters  of  the  order  — 
"  £3a  Eta  Q-"  —  upon  an  ornate  and  showy  standard.  Then  (won- 
derful to  behold !)  came  marching  out  of  the  fabulous  past,  out  of 
the  realms  of  fiction,  out  of  the  covers  of  books,  the  heroes  of 
Romance :  Amadis  of  Gaul,  the  Cid,  and  Arthur,  with  knights  of  the 
round  table,  in  gorgeous  panoply ;  Pantagruel,  Rabelais'  creation, 
of  vast  and  laughable  dimensions ;  and  Don  Quixote,  grim  with 
courage,  mounted  on  the  boniest  of  steeds,  and  accompanied  by  his 
doughty,  squire,  striding  a  grave  animal  of  a  long-eared  race. 
Ivanhoe,  Robin  Hood,  and  the  fantastic  Wamba,  came  after. 
Then  might  have  been  witnessed  the  edifying  spectacle  of  Tom 
Jones  and  Gil  Bias,  walking  arm  in  arm ;  Mr.  Pickwick  and  Oli- 
ver Twist ;  Porthos,  Athos,  and  Aramis,  the  three  guardsmen, 
world-renowned ;  and  the  Count  of  Monte  Christo  in  conversation 
with  the  Wandering  Jew.  Leatherstocking,  and  some  of  Coop- 
er's Indians,  appeared  conspicuous;  and  Robinson  Crusoe  and 
his  man  Friday  marched  in  the  midst  of  the  procession.  Many 
of  those  that  followed  were  unknown  to  HecJor ;  but  there  was 
no  mistaking  Hudibras  and  Orlando  Furioso,  who  brought  up  the 
rear.  Uncle  Tom,  by  a  singular  oversight,  was  not  represented, 
except  accidentally,  perhaps,  in  the  figures  of  the  torch-bearers. 

The  procession  tramped  on  through  the  thin  and  slippery  mud, 
.the  glare  of  the  torches  growing  sombre  and  misty  in  the  distance; 
and  Hector,  who  had  dismounted  from  the  coach,  was  about  re- 
suming his  seat,  when  a  hand  touched  his  .shoulder. 

"  I  had  to  put  on  my  glasses  to  make  sure  't  was  you  !  "  cried  a 
cordial  old  gentleman,  grasping  his  hand.  "  Where  did  you  come 
from  ?  Where  are  you  going  ?  " 

"  I  landed  ten  minutes  ago  from  the  steamer,  and  I  am  on  my 
way  to  the  Battle  House." 

"  The  Battle  House?  I  suppose  you  know  the  Strikers  give  a 
grand  entertainment  there  to-night !  You  shall  see  the  last  of  the 
Mohicans  dance  in  his  war-paint  and  feathers,  and  make  havoc 


HECTOR'S  -JOURNEY.  297 


with  the  hearts  of  the  ladies.  Don  Quixote  and  Sara  Weller 
may  be  expected  to  vie  with  each  other  in  gallantry,  and  Kip 
Van  Winkle  shall  show  himself  wide  awake  after  his  twenty  years' 
nap.  Meanwhile,  why  won't  you  jump  into  my  carriage,  and  ride 
with  us  to  .Royal-street  ?  "  cried  the  old  gentleman.  "  You  must 
see  the  Cowbellions.  And,  I  '11  tell  you  what,  your  baggage  shall 
be  sent  to  my  house,  and  you  shall  make  us  a  visit." 

He  would  listen  to  no  objections ;  and  Hector,  who  had  in  fact 
no  very  grave  .objections  to  advance,  accepted  the  invitation.  The 
old  gentleman's  carriage  was  close  by.  It  contained  two  ladies,  — 
one  a  fine-looking,  middle-aged  person,  arrayed  with  considerable 
magnificence ;  the  other  younger,  of  a  more  delicate  beauty,  and 
a  more  thoughtful  and  spiritual  countenance. 

"  My  sister,  Mrs.  De  Rohan,"  said  the  old  gentleman,  indicat 
ing  the  elder  of  the  two,  "  and  my  niece.  Ladies,  Mr.  Dun- 
bury." 

"  I  expected  to  see  Helen,"  said  Hector. 

"  She  is  preparing  for  a  ball.  After  witnessing  the  show,  we 
will  try  to  get  home  in  time  to  see  her  off.  Drive  on,  Parch- 
ment !  "  —  to  the  colored  coachman.  "  Royal-street." 

"  Ye,s,  massa,"  said  Parchment,  proudly  drawing  up  the  reins. 
Royal-street  was  found  impassable ;  and  Parchment,  consulting 
his  master,  brought  the  span  to  a  halt  upon  an  eligible  corner. 
Another  procession  was  approaching ;  and  the  crowds  were  dense. 
First  came  the  band,  in  dashing  uniforms ;  then  followed,  amid  a 
throng  of  servitors,  the  colossal  effigy  of  a  milk-white  cow,  with 
extraordinary  horns,  a  wondrous  length  of  tail,  and  luminous  eyes, 
—  all  hung  with  festoons  of  ribbons,  and  with  silver  bells. 

"These  are  the  Cowbellions,  I  suppose,  Mr.  Copliff?"  said 
Hector. 

"  Yes,  that  is  the  venerable  name  of  the  society,"  replied  the 
old  gentleman. 

"  What  a  whimsical  caprice  !  "  exclaimed  the  elder  of  the  two 
ladies. 

"  A  caprice,  Mrs.  De  Rohan,"  said  her  brother,  "  which  has 
grown  in-  power  and  popularity  for  some  twenty  years.  I  waa 
orco  a  Cowbellion  myself,"  he  added,  with  self-complacency. 


298  HECTOR'S'  JOURNEY. 


"  You  !  "  cried  Mrs.  De  Rohan.  "  Dear  me  !  what  is  the  mean- 
ing of  those  outlandish  costumes?" 

"  I  should  think  the  entire  mineral  kingdom  had  marched  out 
of  the  bowels  of  the  earth,  to  parade  in  Royal-street !  "  said  Hec- 
tor. "  Observe,  upon  that  coal-black  steed,  that  coal-black  rider 
with  a  block  of  sea-coal  for  a  head." 

"  Old  King  Cole  himself!  "  ejaculated  Mr.  Copliff. 

{>  Precious  Stones  sparkles  superbly  in  contrast,"  said  Hector 
"To  his  knees  he  is  all  garnets  ;•  his  breast  is  of  onyx,  his  arm.. 
of  ruby,  his  thighs  sapphire,  and  his  head  of  pure  diamonds  ! 
How  ludicrous  Chalk  looks,  coming  after  !  He  is  as  white  as  ten 
millers.  There  is  Iron,  and  Silver,  and  Gold  ;  and,  look  !  there 
comes  the  vegetable  kingdom,  —  animated  melon?,  colossal  cauli- 
flowers, and  beets  on  horse-back  !  " 

" A  repetition,  a  plagiarism!"  cried  Mr.  Copliff.  "We  had 
the  vegetable  kingdom  thirteen  years  ago,  when  I  was  a  Cowbell- 
ion.  I  was  a  cabbage-head.  You  never  saw  anything  so  green. 
My  leaves  covered  me  to  my  waist ;  I  think  a  hungry  ox  might 
have  eaten  me,  without  discovering  the  difference.  I  was  con- 
structed of  pasteboard  and  green  silk.  Observe  Sir  Carrot !  " 

"  Where  1 "  asked  Mrs.  De  Rohan,  raising  her  eye-glass. 

"  Yonder,  travelling  in  company  with  a  friendly  potato,"  said 
Hector.  "  He  is  the  magnified  image  of  a  little  fellow  I  pulled 
out  of  my  father's  garden  last  summer.  His  yellow  limbs  are  the 
forked  roots,  and  his  head  branches  out  naturally  into  a  luxuriant 
adornment  of  tops.  How  do  you  like  it,  Parchment  1 " 

Parchment,  showing  his  magnificent  teeth  :  "  Aw  —  I  —  massa 
—  it 's  mos'  superfluous  !  "  —  meaning  superb.  "  De  Strikers  is  n't 
a  suckumstance,  dis  year,  my  'pinion  !  " 

Mrs.  De  Rohan  :  "  Is  not  there  the  animal  kingdom, 
behind  1  " 

Hector  :  "  I  hope  not ;  for  we  have  seen  enough.  But  there  it 
eomes,  truly !  It  looks  as  if  three  menageries  and  the  inhabit- 
ants of  several  cedar  swamps  had  been  picturesquely  mixed,  and 
marched  into  Mobile." 

Parchment,  shaking:  "Look  a'  dat  ar  great  big  alligator,  OD 
his  hind  legs  '  Denis  what  ye  call  javv.s  !  " 


HECTOR'S  JOURNEY.  299 


Mr..  Copliff:  "Look  out  for  the  span,  Parchment;  they  may 
take  fright.  What 's  the  matter  ?  " 

"  I  declar',  massa,"  articulated  the  coachman,  "  I 's  laughed  till 
I 's  powerful  weak  !  " 

Hector  had  become  suddenly  thoughtful.  Dragons,  serpents, 
monstrous  frogs,  men  with  lion's  heads,  men  with  tusks  and  trunks 
men  with  beaks  and  wings,  and  men  with  tails,  moved  by  him  un- 
observed, in  the  torches'  smoky  light. 

"  Are  you  tired  of  it,  Dunbury  ?  " 

"  0,  no  !  "  Hector  started.  "  But  my  mind  was  elsewhere. 
1  did  wrong  to  accept  your  invitation ;  I  'in  not  in  a  social  mood 
tot-night." 

"  You  will  find  a  sympathizing  companion  in  my  niece,"  said 
the  old  gentleman.  "  I  believe  she  has  not  spoken  since  you  joined 
us.  Ah  !  there  is  Adam  and  Eve,  the  last  of  the  animal  creation, 
and  the  end  of  the  show.  Have  we  seen  enough,  ladies  ?  Drive 
home,  Parchment !  By  the  way,  Lucy,  tell  Dunbury  about  — 
what  was  the  name  ?  Your  favorite.  He  is  from  the  north,  and 
may  give  you  some  information  and  advice." 

"  That  is  not  probable.  But,"  said  the  niece,  after  some  hesi- 
tation, "  it  is  easy  to  state  the  facts.  I  had  a  favorite,  as  my 
uncle  rightly  calls  her  —  " 

"  I  remember  the  name  now  !  "  cried  Mr.  Copliff:  "  Camille." 
.  How  the  shock  of  that  word  smote  Hector's  heart ! 

"  She  was  by  nature  a  rare  character ;  and  during  the  few 
years  she  lived  with  me,"  said  Lucy,  "  she  developed  wonderfully. 
Although  my  servant,  she  was  more  like  a  younger  sister ;  and  I 
treated  her  as  such." 

Mr.  Copliff:  "There  you  were  wrong," — dogmatically, — 
"  totally  wrong,  Lucy.  But  you  know  my  principles  ;  and  we 
will  not  argue  that  point.  A  person,  torn  of  a  slave  mother, 
should  not,  on  any  condition  —  " 

"  You  did  not  know  Camille,  uncle,  or  you  would  never  repeat 
your  celebrated  axiom,"  said  the  other,  with  a  smile. 

Mr.  Copliif,  indulgently  :   "  Well,  well,  my  dear,  go  on." 

"  Circumstances,  which  I  need  not  explain,"  —  the  speaker's 
voice  faltered.  —  "removed  Camille  from  me  at  a  critical  and 


300  HECTOil'S    JOUKNEY. 


dangerous  period.  It  was  not  in  my  power  to  intercede,  and  she 
was  sold.  Are  you  interested  ?  " 

"Much,"  spoke  Hector,  betwixt  the  beatings  of  his  heart. 

"I  think  it  was  horrible!"  exclaimed  Mrs.  De  Rohan.  "1 
have  hot  come  south  to  interfere  with  your  blessed  institutions, 
brother,"  —  with  sarcasm,  —  "but  you  must  allow  me  now  and 
then  to  express  a  meek  opinion.  I  think  the  idea  of  a  young  girl, 
like  Camille,  being  sold  —  " 

Mr.  Copliff,  wincing  :   "  Go  on,  Lucy." 

"  Until  very  recently,  I  was  not  free  to  make  any  efforts  in  her 
behalf,"  said  his  niece.  "  But  Camille  had  been  brought  to  this 
city,  from  New  Orleans  ;  and  on  my  arrival  here,  three  days  ago, 
I  went  personally  to  search  her  out.  I  applied  to  the  man  who 
purchased  her ;  when,  imagine  my  astonishment  to  learn  that  she 
had  made  her  escape  to  freedom  !  " 

Hector  could  scarce  refrain  from  clasping  the  speaker's  hand,  in 
the  sympathy  and  exultation  of  his  spirit. 

"  This  interests  you,  I  see.  But  hear  the  rest.  I  thought  it 
natural  that  the  man  would  dispose  of  his  claim  upon  the  poor 
girl  for  a  mere  trifle ;  and  I  resolved  that,  if  within  the  limit  of 
my  means,  I  would  secure  it ;  for  I  had  hopes  that  she  would 
communicate  with  me  at  no  distant  day,  and  then  I  could  have 
the  gratification  of  giving  her  her  liberty,  and  insuring  her  safety 
should  she  choose  to  return  to  me." 

"  And  you  bought  the  claim  ?  "  breathed  Hector. 

"  I  did  not ;  I  will  tell  you  why.  '  Had  you  proposed  the  thing 
a  month  ago,'  said  the  man,  'you  should  have  had  her  for  a  song. 
Now  it  is  different.'  '  How  different  ?'  1  asked.  'Because  then 
I  had  no  hopes  of  ever  hearing  from  her  again.'  '  But  now  —  ' 
'Now  I  have  hopes,'  said  he,  with  a  confidence  that  stunned  me." 

"  Here  we  are  at  home  !  "  cried  Mr.  Copliff.  "  Wait  and  finish 
your  story,  Lucy,  after  we  get  in.  We  will  indulge  in  a  little 
refreshment ;  then,  if  you  like,  Dunbury,  we  will  ride  around  to 
the  Battle  House,  and  call  on  the  Strikers.  Keep  the  carriage 
up,  Parchment." 

Hector  could  not  speak.  Mechanically  he  helped  the  ladies 
down,  and  accompanied  them  into  the  house. 


HECTOR'S  JOURNEY.  301 


"  I  have  but  a  word  to  add,"  said  the  younger  of  the  two. 
« There  was  a  stubbornness  and  independence  in  the  man,  upon 
which  I  could  make  no  impression.  He  declared  that,  as  matters 
stood,  he  would  sooner  risk  an  entire  loss,  including  the  expense 
he  had  incurred  in  the  hope  of  recovering  Camille,  than  sell  tia 
claim  for  less  than  eight  hundred  dollars." 

"  That  is  exorbitant ! "  exclaimed  Mr.  Copliff.  "  I  would  never 
give  that." 

"  But  if  she  is  brought  back,  it  would  require  a  much  larger 
sum  to  purchase  her.  Consider,  she  is  a  beautiful  —  " 

'•  But  fugitives  are  not  brought  back  so  easy,  my  dear  woman ; 
so  don't  be  alarmed.  Ah  !  there  comes  Helen,  for  our  criticisms 
on  her  ball-dress  !  " 

A  beautiful  girl,  of  rather  petite  figure,  but  voluptuously  formed, 
nuide  her  appearance  in  a  superb  white  attire,  with  jewels  glitter- 
ing on  her  arms  and  in  her  hair. 

"  Well  done  ! ':  cried  her  father.  "  There,  Dunbury," —  turn- 
ing with  a  smile  of  pride  to  Hector,  —  "  what  do  you  think  of 
that  ?  " 

Helen  started  back,  with  a  blush,  at  sight  of  her  father's  guest 
but,  recovering  herself  presently,  she  advanced,  self-possessed,  with 
a  smile  of  welcome,  to  lay  her  delicate  white-gloved  hand  in  Hec- 
tor's.    He  took  it  coldly,  and  with  a  few  formal  and  commonplace 
words,  uttered  with  effort,  bowed  stiffly,  like  an  automaton. 

i(  Is  that  New  England  gallantry?"  cried  Mr.  Copliff,  in  a 
rallying,  tone.  "  Come  to  me,  darling  ;  I  will  teach  our  cool 
friend  southern  etiquette."  He  bent  down  and  kissed  her  ten- 
derly upon  both  cheeks.  "  There,  go,  my  pet !  You  have  a  great 
deal  of  snow  and  ice  in  Vermont,  have  you  not?"  turning  again 
to  Hector. 

"In .their  season,"  said  the  young  man,  without  a  smile.  "  We 
have  fiery  skies,  too,  in  their  turn.  There  is  a  time  for  everything 
under  the  sun." 

Mr.  Copliff  perceived  the  pale  anxiety  of  his  face,  and  changed 
his   tone.       "Well,"  pressing  his  hand  heartily,    "we  will  not 
quarrel  about  sectional   differences.      Let  me  show  you  to.  your 
quarters.     You  will  find  your  baggage  there  before  you." 
2G 


302  HECTOR'S  JOURNEY. 


"Mr.  Dunbury  has  something  to  say  to  me,"  interposed  his 
Dtece,  gently,  "  if  my  imprest-ions  do  not  deceive  me." 

"  They  do  not !  "  exclaimed  Hector  ;  "  I  have  something  to  say 
to  you." 

Mr.  Copliff  looked  from  one  to  the  other,  in  astonishment. 
"  You  are  two  incomprehensibles !  You  have  progressed,  for—a 
short  acquaintance.  Come,  Mrs.  De  !  "  And,  giving  his  sister 
his  arm,  he  led  her  with  lofty  politeness  from  the  room. 

Then  Hector  turned  to  Mrs.  Graves. 

"  You  knew  I  wished  to  speak  with  you !  "  he  said,  eagerly. 

"  I  felt  it !  "  exclaimed  Mrs.  Graves.     "  About  Camille." 

"You  arc  right.  I  know  "her.  And,  through  her,  I  know 
you  !  " 

"  I  thought  so.     Tell  me  of  her  !     Where  is  she  ?  " 

"  In  my  father's  house.  I  have  come  to  make  terms  with  — 
the  man  who  calls  himself  her  owner  !  I  supposed  he  would  dis- 
pose of  his  claim  for  any  trifle.  I  hope  I  have  not  arrived  too 
late  !  If  she  has  been  discovered  (that  is  what  I  fear),  she  must 
be  saved  ;  she  must  be  bought." 

"  0,  truly  she  must !     I  am  not  rich  —  " 

"  Nor  I !  But  what  I  have  I  count  but  as  straw  in  the  balance 
with  her  happiness  !  In  my  pocket-book  is  a  draft  for  five  hun- 
dred dollars.  13y  some  means,  —  I  do  not  yet  know  what,  —  I 
mu*t  raise  the  remainder  by  to-morrow  morning." 

"  Depend  upon  me  for  that,"  cried  Mrs.  Graves.  "  I  claim  the 
privilege  of  doing  at  least  so  much  —  " 

"  Generous  heart !  —  as  if  you  had  done  nothing  for  her  yet ! 
0,"  said  Hector,  "  you  should  hear  her  speak  of  you ;  it  is  always 
with  such  gratitude,  such  love  !  For  her  sake,  I  accept  your  con- 
tribution. Some  day  I  shall  be  able  to  repay  it,  with  intercut ! 
Then  I  will  thank  you!  Pardon  my  abruptness  now,  —  excuse 
me  to  Helen  —  " 

"  You  are  going  ?  " 

"  I  shall  try  to  send  a  telegraphic  despatch  this  evening.  When 
[  return,  you  shall  know  all  about  Camille." 

Hector  was  intercepted  in  the  hall  by  Mr.  Copliff. 

"  What  now  ?  "  cried  the  old  gentleman. 


HECTOR'S  JOURNEY.  303 


"  I  was  about  to  demonstrate  the  coolness  of  my  Vermont  tem- 
per, by  taking  an  unceremonious  leave.  I  shall  return  in  half 
an  hour.  I  have  thought  of  a  little  matter  of  business  —  a  tele- 
graphic despatch  — " 

"  Is  it  so  important  ?  Then  let  Parchment  drive  you  to  the 
office.  Make  haste  to  return,  for  supper  will  be  waiting." 

"  Thank  you  a  thousand  times  !  "  and  Hector  mounted  the 
carriage,  and  rode  away. 

"What  success?"  asked  Mrs.  Graves,  half  an  hour  later, 
meeting  him  in  the  hall. 

'•  Dubious !  I  cannot  learn  until  to-morrow  whether  the 
despatch  will  go  through  to  its  destination." 

"  We  must  be  patient,  and  have  faith  till  then  !  " 

"  Faith  !  "answered  Hector.     "  0,  to-morrow  !  to-morrow  !  " 

•  "  Wish  yer  happy  new  year,  massa  !  "  said  old  Juno,  the  cook, 
looking  up,  and  showing  her  good-natured  face  and  broken  teeth, 
as  her  master  came  muttering  down  the  stairs. 

"  I  wish  you  a  hundred  thousand  !  "  growled  Dr.  Tanwood, 
tying  his  cravat,  "  and  as  many  children  !  " 

"  Laws  bless  us  !  what  'u'd  a'  ol'  'omari  do  with  so  many  new- 
years  as  dat,  say  not'n'  bout  de  chil'n  ?  " 

"  Plague  your  masters  with  your  everlasting  clatter  !  There  's 
no  use  trying  to  get  any  sleep  in  this  house ! " 

"  Laws,  Massa  !  han't  ye  no  idee  what  time  o'  day  't  is?  Clock 
struck  ten  'mos'  'n  hour  ago.  Been  a  gen'l'man  waitin'  for  ye,  dis 
half-hour  !  " 

Buttoning  his  waistcoat,  and  sweeping  his  fingers  across  his  hair, 
Dr.  Tanwood  crossed  the  hall-floor,  and  entered  his  office. 

Hector  was  in  waiting. 

"  I  hope  I  have  not  disturbed  you  — " 

"  0,  not  at  all !  I  've  overslept  myself  a  little  this  morning." 
The  doctor  looked  in  the  glass  which  hung  opposite  the  door,  and 
brushed  his  hair  over  his  forehead.  "  What  can  I  do  for  you, 
sir  ?  " 

Hectoi  was  pale  ;  his  heart  beat  strong  and  fast.  "  I  come  to 
you  from  Mrs.  Graves  "  The  doctor  fixed  his  searching  glance 


304  HECTOR'S  JOURNEY. 


on  Hector.  "  Touching  the  affair  she  spoke  with  you  about,  the 
other  day — " 

"  I  remember,"  —  and  the  doctor  nodded,  with  a  peculiar  .«mile 

"  She  is  desirous  to  know  if  any  circumstances  have  occurred 
to  alter  your  decision." 

"  And  it'  there  have  ?  " 

"  In  that  case,  I  am  authorized  to  treat  with  you." 

The  doctor  sat  silent  for  near  a  minute,  his  dark  eyes  studying 
Hector,  from  beneath  their  gathered  brows. 

"  Yes,"  he  exclaimed,  "  circumstances  have  occurred  to  alter 
my  decision." 

"  Well  ?  " 

"  For  eight  hundred  dollars,  I  think  it  was,  I  engaged  to  make 
over  to  Mrs.  Graves  my  claim  upon  the  girl  Camille." 

"  The  sum  she  named,"  assented  Hector. 

"  She  thought  it  too  much."  The  doctor  leaned  over,  and 
tapped  the  table  significantly.  "  But,  as  matters  now  stand,  it  is 
not  enough.  Prospects  have  risen  ;  and  my  terms  have  gone  up 
in  proportion." 

"  Sir,"  said  Hector,  "  I  do  not  understand.     Your  terms  — 

"  A  thousand  dollars,  cash  in  hand,"  said  the  doctor ;  and,  with 
an  indifferent  air,  he  smoothed  down  the  lock  of  hair  that  lay 
low  upon  his  forehead. 

"  You  must,  then,  be  extremely  confident — " 

"  Confident  ?  "  The  doctor  laughed.  "  Sir,  I  Ml  wager  the 
price  of  her,  that  in  a  week,  at  the  furthest,  she  '11  be  seen  in 
Mobile !  Then  no  money  will  buy  her." 

A  dizzy  blur  darkened  Hector's  vision.  He  leaned  his  head 
upon  his  hand.  He  saw  the  danger  that  threatened  Charlotte 
clothed  in  all  its  terrors  ;  and  money  seemed  but  as  water  to  be 
poured  out  for  the  security  of  her  peace.  Unfortunately,  he  had 
but  little  more  than  eight  hundred  dollars  at  his  command,  and  to 
make  a  final  offer  of  that  was  all  that  he  could  do. 

"  Not  qu-i-t-e  enough  ! "  said  the  doctor. 

"  Then,"  said  Hector,  "  I  must  confer  with  Mrs.  Graves." 

"  Very  good  sir  !  "  And,  with  a  sinister  smile,  the  doctor 
arose  to  bow  his  visitor  to  the  door. 


HECTOR'S  JOURNEY.  305 


Tortured  with  doubts,  Hector  hurried  from  the  office.  He 
hastened  to  find  an  old  friend,  his  former  employer,  of  whom  be 
noped  for  aid  :  he  was  absent  from  the  city.  Though  stunned 
momentarily  by  the  news,  he  lost  no  time  in  idle  regret,  but, 
mounting  a  coach,  rode  to  the  house  of  an  eminent  physician, 
whom  he  knew.  He  was  engaged  at  a  consultation,  and  none 
could  tell  when  he  would  be  home.  Again  in  the  coach,  Hectoi 
held  his  impatient  spirit,  until  the  slow  vehicle  brought  him  to 
*,he  door  of  a  benevolent  citizen,  of  whom  he  had  formerly 
received  so  many  kindnesses  that  he  had  reason  to  hope  for 
more.  The  bell  was  muffled,  and  a  colored  servant  opened  tha 
door  noiselessly.  The  master  was  dangerously  ill,  and  could  see 
no  one. 

Foiled  again  in  his  purpose,  Hector  thought  of  Mr.  Fob- 
bles,  a  merchant,  to  whom  he  had  once  rendered  an  important 
service,  and  who  had  ever  since  been  loud  in  his  protesta- 
tions of  friendship.  In  less  than  a  quarter  of  an  hour,  the  two 
were  standing  face  to  face.  Mr.  Fobbles  was  delighted,  and 
invited  the  visitor  to  walk  home  with  him  to  dinner.  Uncer- 
emoniously, Hector  named  the  object  of  his  visit.  Mr.  Fobbles 
would  have  been  rejoiced  to  accommodate  him  ;  "  but,  indeed,  sir, 
and  indeed,  sir  !  nothing  could  have  happened  so  awkwardly ! " 
At  any  other  time  he  could  have  taken  so  small  a  sum  out  of  his 
pocket,  and  given  him  ;  "  but  losses,  sir,  payments,  perplexities  — " 

Hector  broke  impetuously  away.  Mr.  Copliff  was  now  his 
last  hope.  He  had  dreaded  to  call  on  him  for  money,  being  his 
guest.  But  his  fears  for  Charlotte  overcame  every  other  consid- 
eration. He  reached  the  office.  Mr.  Copliff  had  just  gone. 

"  Where  ?  " 

"  To  New  Orleans,  on  business  ;  he  will  be  back  this  evening.' 

Ten  minutes  later,  Hector  came  upon  his  old  friend,  Joseph 
Spalding,  like  an  apparition. 

"  Merciful  heavens  !  "  exclaimed  the  young  lawyer,  "  are  you 
Bubstance  or  shadow  ?  " 

"  Substance,"  uttered  Hector,  "  since  I  seek  substantial  aid. 
Give  me  two  hundred  dollars  !  " 

''That  sounds  like  flesh  and  blood,'r  said  Joseph;  "but,  tell 
26* 


300  HECTOR'S   JOURNEY 


me,  did  you  ever  know  the  time  when  I  had  two  hundred  dol- 
lars?" 

"  Spendthrift  !  —  no  !  "  cried  Hector.  "  But  you  should  hav« 
it !  My  more  than  life  depends  upon  it ! " 

"  Is  it  so  serious  ?  " 

"Joseph,  I  have  no  time  for  words.  Can  you  get  me  the 
money?" 

"  True,"  said  Joseph,  "  I  ought  to  be  able  to  raise  so  small  a 
sum,  and  I  will  ;  but  I  do  not  see  how  I  can  possibly  have  it  for 
you  before  to-morrow." 

"  To-morrow  !  there  's  an  eternity  betwixt  now  and  then  !  " 

Hector  returned  to  Mrs.  Graves.  She  grew  pale  at  the  sight 
of  him.  Words  were  needless  to  report  his  ill-success. 

"  I  have  nothing  at  my  immediate  command,"  she  said. 
"  What  I  gave  you  this  morning,  I  borrowed  of  my  uncle.  Until 
he  returns  — " 

"  I  have  a  better  thought !  "  cried  Hector.  "  Can  I  see  Mrs. 
De  Rohan  ?  " 

Mrs.  Graves  left  the  room,  and  the  other  lady  entered.  She 
was  a  woman  of  the  world ;  no  more  like  her  spiritual  companion 
than  the  moon  is  like,  the  stars;  but  benevolence  beamed  in  her 
face,  and  beneath  the  gay  externals  of  her  life  throbbed  a  warm 
and  generous  heart.  Hector  approached  her  confidently. 

"  I  have  a  confession  to  make  to  you,  Mrs.  De  llohan.  I  have 
not  been  quite  true  with  you.  I  met  you  last  night  as  a 
stranger." 

"  And  was  I  not  so  ?  " 

'  Not  altogether,  madam.  The  mention  of  your  name  startled 
me  •  then,  when  I  heard  it  remarked  that  you  were  from  Canada, 
I  remembered  you." 

"  You  had  seen  me,  then  ?  " 

«  I  had  heard  of  you.  You  must  recollect  a  young  girl  who 
partly  engaged  herself  as  your  travelling  companion  — " 

"  Indeed  !  Miss  Woods  !  A  charming  person  !  how  much  I 
have  thought  of  her  since  !  And  you  know  her  !  " 

"  Mrs.  Graves  knows  her.  It  was  of  her  she  spoke  last 
night  — " 


HECTOR'S  JOURNEY.  307 


"  Of  her  —  Miss  Woods  !  —  Gamille  ?  " 

"  They  are  the  same  !  "  And,  without  giving  the  other  tin  e  to 
recover  from  her  astonishment,  Hector  poured  forth  the  history. 
In  his  manner,  his  voice,  his  looks,  there  was  an  energy  that 
swept  everything  before  it.  The  other  hesitated  not  an  instant. 
She  demanded  neither  reasons  nor  explanations.  She  left  the  room, 
and,  returning  straightway,  placed  iu  his  hand  a  purse  of  gold. 

"  Take  it !  "  she  said,  "  and  may  it  serve  your  purpose  '  " 

Her  features  were  suffused,  her  voice  tremulous,  her  eyes  filled 
with  tears.  In  the  name  of  Charlotte,  of  humanity,  of  Him 
whose  mission  was  to  loose  the  bonds  of  the  oppressed,  he  uttered 
his  thanks,  and  hurried  from  the  house.  . 

Once  more  he  confronted  Dr.  Tanwood.  The  doctor  smiled, 
and,  bowing  with  ironic  civility,  invited  him  to  a  seat. 

"  Thank  you,"  said  Hector.  "  I  have  seen  Mrs.  Graves. 
And  if  you  will  please  draw  up  the  bill  of  sale — "  The  words 
sounded  strange  and  awful  in  his  ear.  A  bill  of  sale*  as  of  some 
property  :  a  horse,  or  an  ox  ;  a  bill  of  sale  of  a  human  soul !  Of 
Charlotte  f  of  his  own  wife  ! 

The  doctor,  smiling  still :  "  If  I  will  draw  it  up  — " 

"  I  am  prepared  to  comply  with  your  terms." 

The  doctor  leaned  over  the  table,  and  with  gloating  delib- 
eration fixed  Hector  with  his"  hard,  vindictive  eye. 

il  But  if  my  terms  should  not  be  precisely  the  same  as  two 
hours  ago  ?  " 

"Sir?" 

"  I  have  had  news  ;  and  the  presumptive  value  of  my  property 
is  increased." 

"  Is  this,  sir,  —  is  this  honorable  dealing  ?  " 

"  Call  it  what  you  please  !  If  you  deal  with  me,  you  will  take 
what  terms  you  can  get." 

"  Will  you,  then,  be  so  good,  sir,"  —  Hector  spoke  calmly,  but 
with  a  kindling  fury  in  his  look, —  "as  to  name  your  ultimate 
terms,  that  I  may  know  what  to  depend  upon  ?  " 

"  Certainly ;  if  it  will  be  any  satisfaction.  Splice  on  two  hun- 
dred more,  and  you  have  it." 

"  Twelve  hundred  ?  "  articulated  Hector. 


308  HECTOR'S  JOURNEY. 


"  Precisely,"  smiled  the  doctor. 

"  Will  you  have  the  kindness  to  put  it  in  writing  ?  " 

"  Certainly,  when  you  produce  the  cash,  provided  live  stock  has 
not  taken  another  sudden  rise." 

At  this  brutal  allusion,  Hector  felt  a  dangerous  leaping  of  the 
blood.  With  fixed  teeth,  and  lips  compressed,  he  produced  his 
pocket-book.  Two  checks,  one  of  five  hundred  dollars,  the  other 
of  three  hundred,  he  laid  upon  the  table.  Then,  resorting  to 
Mrs.  De  Rohan's  purse,  he  emptied  out  a  heap  of  British  gold. 
There  was  near  double  the  amount  he  had  asked  for ;  and, 
making  up  the  requisite  sum  in  small  bills,  he  shoved  it  towards 
the  doctor. 

"  Is  that  satisfactory  ?  " 

"  No  !  "  burst  forth  the  doctor,  and  he  smote  the  table  fiercely ; 
•'  not  for  twelve  hundred,  nor  twenty  hundred,  nor  twenty  times 
twenty  hundred,  will  I  quit  my  claim  upon  that  girl  ! " 

A  ghastly  pallor  chased  the  flush  from  Hector's  cheek. 

"  Can  I  know,"  —  his  voice  was  forced,  but  calm,  —  "  can  I 
know  why  I  have  been  made  the  subject  of  this  treatment  ?  " 

"  By !  you  can.  I  shall  delight  to  show  you  !  Look  !  "  — 

he  threw  back  the  hair  from  his  forehead,  and  revealed  a  nigged 
scar,  —  "do  you  know  that?  do  you  know  me?  do  you  know 
this  ?  "  And,  snatching  from  a  drawer  a  handkerchief  stained  and 
stiff  with  blood,  he  thrust  it  in  Hector's  face. 

Hector  stood  upon  his  feet,  and  with  rigid  features  kept  his 
firm  look  fixed  upon  the  doctor's  tiger-eyes. 

"  Are  you  satisfied  ?     Do  you  understand  me  now  ?  " 

"  At  least,  I  understand  you  !  "  answered  Hector.  "  We  have 
met  before.  I  know  you  now.  Revenge  may  be  just  and  noble. 
But  sir,  let  it  fall  on  me.  Do  not  make  another  —  an  innocent 
girl  —  its  victim. 

"  Your  name  is  here,"  —  the  doctor  shook  the  handkerchief,  — 
"  here,  blotted  by  my  blood  !  and  there,"  —  striking  a  letter  upon 
the  table, —  "  I  hear  of  you  in  connection  with  your  innocent  girl ! 
I  put  the  two  together.  And,  sir,  the  owner  of  that  name  shall 
see  her  make  a  pleasant  journey  back  to  Mobile,  and  stop  her  if 


HECTOR'S  JOURNEY.  309 


he  can.  There  '11  be  sport,  I  reckon,  before  the  job  is  over ;  take 
my  word  for  it !  And  now,  sir,  allow  me  the  pleasure  of  wishing 
you  a  good-day." 

"  I  have  a  word,"  said  Hector.  "I  shall  not  argue;  I  shall 
leave  the  business  in  other  hands.  But  there  is  something  strug- 
gling here,"  —  his  hand  was  upon  his  breast,  —  "and  it  must 
forth  !  I  met  you  once ;  you  attacked  me.  I  shivered  a  tumbler 
in  your  face.  In  self-defence  I  did  it.  In  self-defence  I  may  do 
something  more.  Be  warned !  Press  not  too  far !  Justice  sets 
bounds  to  vengeance.  You  will  but  beat  your  head  against  the 
rocks,  and  bring  them  down  upon  you.  As  God  exists,  and  heaven, 
the  day  that  sees  Camille  again  in  your  power  will  be  the  black- 
est, the  most  tragical,  of  your  life.  Remember!  " 

"  AVe  shall  see !  "  said  the  doctor ;  but  he  spoke  less  jeeringly 
than  before.  "  If  I  live,  the  girl  shall  be  brought  back  !  " 

Hector  went  forth  from  the  house.  In  the  street  he  met  a 
friend.  It  was  Joseph.  Hector  stared,  without  appearing  to  rec- 
ognize him. 

"  Good  heavens !  "  exclaimed  Joseph,  "  how  haggard  you  look  ! 
What  has  happened?  See,  I  have  borrowed  the  money;  I  was  on 
my  way  to  find  you." 

"  You  are  kind,  Joseph,  but  there  is  a  trouble  which  money  will 
not  heal ! " 

"Who  knows?  Come  to  my  office.  There's  no  telling  what 
money  can  do.  Give  me  your  case,  and  trust  to  me  for  the 
result." 

"  Ah,  Joseph,  had  I  charged  you  with  it  in  time !  But  it  was 
too  sacred.  And  now  it  is  too  late !  And  while  I  am  here,  wast- 
ing time  and  strength,  there  are  those  at  home  dying  of  despair  in 
my  absence ! " 


XXXYT. 

THE    INUNDATION, 

IT  was  about  an  hour  after  Mr.  Jackwood's  departure  from  the 
stack,  that  Charlotte  had  observed  a  change  in  the  storm.  The 
wind  went  down,  and  the  rain,  which  had  all  the  evening  kept  up 
an  incessant  pelting  and  dripping,  began  to  pour  in  torrents. 
Every  other  sound  was  lost  in  its  wild  rush  and  roar.  It  fell 
in  this  way  for  hours ;  until  her  spirit,  lulled  by  the  solemn 
monotony,  forgot  its  pains,  and  sank  into  the  oblivion  of  sleep. 

She  was  aroused  by  startling  sounds  in  the  night.  She  crept 
to  the  oper/.ug  of  her  retreat,  and  looked  out.  The  intense  dark- 
ness had  given  place  to  a  faint  grayish  glimmer  in  the  sky ;  but  it 
was  raining  still,  although  less  violently  than  before.  The  sounds 
were  repeated. 

"  Ho,  ho  !  ho,  ho!"  Two  strange,  prolonged,  inhuman  cries! 
Then  Charlotte  heard  footsteps  plashing  in  the  water  which  cov- 
ered the  meadow,  and  caught  a  momentary  glimpse  of  a  dim, 
ghost-like  figure  moving  by  the  stack.  It  passed  from  sight;  and 
the  plashing  of  footsteps  became  lost  in  the  spattering  and  bub- 
bling of  the  rain.  Then  again,  at  a  distance,  after  a  long  pause, 
the  shouts  arose,  and  died  away  in  a  long,  plaintive,  desolate  wail 

"Ho,  ho!     Ho,  ho  —  o  —  o  —  o!" 

Paint  echoes  came  from  the  sullen  hills ;  and  the  rainy  silence 
followed.  Charlotte  felt  an  unaccountable  impulse  to  leave  her 
retreat,  ",nd  go  wandering  up  and  down  in  the  night  and  sto/m, 
uttering  her  soul  in  cries,  like  the  mysterious  being  that  had 
passed.  Her  sufferings  of  body  and  mind  had  sent  the  flame  of 
fever  into  her  blood,  and  in  her  sleep  a  light  delirium  had  sur- 
prised her  brain. 


THE    INUNDATION.  311 


"  Ho,  ho  !  Ho,  ho  —  o  —  o  —  o !  "  sounded  the  cries  again, 
fainter,  and  further  off,  in  the  night. 

She  climbed  over  the  wet  hay  at  the  mouth  of  the  close  and 
heated  cell,  and  reached  forth  her  hand  towards  the  ground.  It 
was  plunged  to  the  wrist  in  an  icy  pool.  The  cold  storm  beat 
upon  her  face  and  neck.  Chilled  by  the  shock,  she  withdrew 
beneath  the  shelter,  and  tried  once  more  to  sleep.  But  the 
air  was  stifling;  her  flesh  burned  with  the  fever;  her  templea 
ached  with  dull,  heavy  pains.  In  the  anguish  and  despair  of  her 
etate,  she  threw  herself  once  more  upon  the  wet  hay,  moaning, 
with  face  and  arms  and  breast  exposed  to  the  rain.  The  bath 
revived  her.  Again  raising  herself  upon  her  arm,  she  perceived 
that  her  hair  was  dripping  wet.  It  had  been  drenched  in  the 
pool.  She  put  out  her  hand  again,  and  discovered,  to  her  con- 
sternation, that  the  water  was  rising  round  the  stack,  and  creep- 
ing, creeping,  slowly  and  steadily,  into  her  retreat. 

Her  consciousness  was  now  fully  restored.  She  held  her  breath, 
listening  intently,  and  gazing  out  into  the  darkness.  The  gale 
had  risen  again ;  the  storm  lashed  the  stack ;  and  all  around,  the 
rain  gurgled  and  murmured.  For  some  time  she  had  been  half 
conscious  of  hearing  a  faint  roar  in  tho  distance.  It  approached, 
and  grew  distinct ;  and  now  her  mind  was  alert  to  comprehend  the 
mysterious  noise.  It  seemed  at  first  like  a  mighty  wind,  pouring 
through  forests  of  reeling  and  crashing  trees.  Sharp  and  clear 
reports,  like  thunder-claps,  were  mingled  with  the  roar.  But  the 
noise  came  from  up  the  valley,  where  there  were  no  woods ;  and 
the  peals  cracked  and  echoed  along  the  ground. 

Then  it  seemed  as  though  an  earthquake  were  driving  its  plough, 
with  whirlwind  and  thunder,  through  the  valley.  Nearer  and 
nearer  came  the  din.  Charlotte  stood  out  in  the  storm,  and, 
clinging  to  the  fence,  she  beheld  a  glimmer  and  a  flash,  as  of  roll- 
ing snow  and  foam.  It  came  down  the  valley,  in  the  track  of  the 
riving  thunder.  And  now  the  sounds  resolved  themselves  into  the 
splitting  and  crashing  of  ice,  and  the  impetuous  rush  of  waters. 
The  creek  was  breaking  up,  and  a  flood  was  inundating  the  valley ! 

The  convulsion  passed ;  the  din  and  detonation  echoed  down  the 
etream ;  but  already  the  stack  was  surrounded  by  billows.  They 


312  THE    INUNDATION. 


dashed  through  the  fence,  and  leaped  up,  drenching  Charlotte's 
feet,  as  she  endeavored  to  climb  beyond  their  reach.  The  flood 
rose  rapidly  ;  the  fence  was  low ;  and,  in  the  extremity  of  fear, 
Charlotte  got  upon  the  shed.  The  sheep  were  beneath,  bleating 
piteously,  and  swimming  around  the  stack.  The  steers  had  run 
out  frantically,  at  the  approach  of  the  inundation;  and  now,  as  the 
ingulfing  waves  overtook  them,  their  bellowings  of  brute  terror 
sounded  dismally  above  the  roar. 

All  this  had  passed  in  a  brief  space  of  time ;  and  now  Char- 
lotte found  herself  alone  upon  a  frail  and  insecure  structure,  in 
the  midst  of  a  wilderness  of  waters.  Masses  and  fragments  of  ice 
and  snow  went  drifting  by  in  the  night.  Some  of  these  struck  the 
posts  that  supported  the  shed,  and  made  it  tremble  and  creak  be- 
neath her  weight.  The  fence,  meanwhile,  went  to  pieces,  the  rails 
floating  off,  one  by  one,  in  the  current. 

And  now  all  the  stories  Charlotte  had  heard  of  freshets  in  the 
valley,  that  came  sweeping  away  bridges,  and  flocks,  and  herds, 
recurred  to  her  imagination  with  exaggerated  terrors.  She  re- 
membered that  Mr.  Jackwood  had  related  many  of  these,  always 
boasting  that,  thanks  to  his  superior  forethought,  he  had  never  yet 
lost  either  horse,  or  horned-beast,  or  sheep.  Why  had  he,  who 
was  so  versed  in  signs  and  changes  of  the  weather,  forgotten  him- 
self upon  that  night,  of  all  nights,  and  left  her  there  to  perish? 
Up  to  this  hour  she  had  been  dumb ;  but  now  the  fear  and  delir- 
ium of  her  soul  found  expression  in  a  long,  piercing  cry. 

A  burst  of  wild  laughter  answered  from  the  stream.  She  gazed 
in  the  direction  of  the  shout,  and  perceived  a  dark  shape  drifting 
by  upon  a  cake  of  ice.  With  a  shudder  of  horror  she  remem- 
bered the  cries  she  had  previously  heard,  and  leaned  forward 
eager.y  to  watch  the  floating  mass. 

' '  Hurra !  hurra !  "  shouted  the  mysterious  being,  as  if  he  had 
been  the  demon  of  the  flood. 

"  Edward  !  "  shrieked  Charlotte. 

The  shape  rose  up  to  the  stature  of  a  man,  dimly  discerned  in 
the  darkness,  and  began  to  leap,  with  grotesque  gestures,  upon 
.he  ice. 

"  Edward  !  Edward  !  "  implored  Charlotte. 


THE    INUNDATION.  313 


He  reached  forth  his  arms;  a  cry  of  recognition,  of  joy,  came 
from  the  flood.  But  suddenly  there  was  a  dull  explosion,  the  ice 
went  asunder,  and  the  shape  disappeared  amid  the  agitated  frag- 
ments. Two  or  three  strangled  cries,  a  little  bubbling  and  splash- 
ing; then  the  waters  swept  on,  and  the  ice  drifted  away  in  the 
darkness. 

Aroused  by  the  sounds  in  the  valley,  Mr.  Jackwood  rushed  out, 
Dickson  still  keeping  doggedly  by  his  side.  Abimelech  followed, 
buttoning  his  jacket  by  the  way. 

"  Give  us  a  helpin'  hand !  "  shouted  the  farmer,  throwing  open 
the  barn-doors.  He  seized  the  boat,  that  was  housed  there  for  the 
winter,  and  dragged  it  from  its  place.  "  To  the  crick  !  " 

u  If  it 's  for  that  gal,"  cried  Dickson,  "  say  the  word,  and  I  'm 
yer  man !  " 

"  Stand  away  !  "  said  the  farmer,  through  his  teeth ;  and  alone, 
by  main  force,  he  dragged  the  boat  to  the  bank.  "  Bring  a  pail 
or  suthin,  Bim'lech  !  Where  's  the  oars?  "  The  oars  were  found; 
Abimelech  came  running  with  a  dipper  to  bail  with ;  Mrs.  Jack- 
wood  brought  the  lantern ;  and  the  boat  was  launched  in  the 
sweeping  current.  "  Git  in,  Bim'lech!  " 

"  The  oP  thing  '11  leak  like  a  siv !  "  said  the  boy,  as  he  scram- 
bled aboard. 

Mr.  Jackwood  was  about  to  follow,  when  Dickson  stepped  in 
before  him. 

"  Git  out  o'  there !  "  exclaimed  the  farmer,  fiercely. 

Dickson  possessed  himself  of  the  oars.  "  I  reck'n  't  '11  be  as 
well  for  me  to  keep  you  company ;  I  feel  an  interest  in  that  gal." 

"  You  've  done  enough  for  her,  and  for  us,  too !  Will  ye  git 
ouf  ?  We  're  goiu'  to  pick  up  the  drowndin'  sheep,  an'  there  won't 
be  room ! " 

"  I  '11  help  as  much  as  I  '11  bender,  I  reck'n  !  "  retorted  Dick- 
son,  —  and  the  lantern  shining  upon  his  face  showed  it  dark  and 
determined.  "  Come  on.  I  'm  a  powerful  hand  at  the  oars." 

Mr.  Jackwood  glanced  around.  Had  his  eye  fallen  upon  any 
sort  of  weapon,  the  impulse  that  prompted  him  to  knock  the  vil- 
lain into  the  water  would  have  led  to  a  struggle.  He  hesitated 
27 


314  THE    INUNDATION. 


but  a  moment,  however.  Delay  might  prove  fatal  to  Charlotte 
And  the  swift  thought  flashed  through  his  brain,  that,  in  case  of 
her  rescue,  it  would  still  be  time  to  deliver  her,  by  desperate 
means,  from  the  hands  of  the  kidnapper. 

"  Gi'  me  the  lantern ! "  and,  taking  it  from  the  hands  of  bis 
anxious  wife,  he  stepped  aboard,  and  shoved  clear  of  the  bank. 

"  That 's  the  wisest  thing  you  could  do,"  growled  Dickson. 
"  It  '11  be  jest  my  cussed  luck,  if  that  gal  's  drownded  !  I  'm  cer- 
tain I  heard  yells  off  in  this  direction.  But  I  '11  have  the  wuth  of 
her  out  o'  somebody,  —  you  may  make  sure  o'  that!  " 

"  She  might  git  on  the  cattle-shed,"  said  the  frightened  Bim. 

"  Look  a'  here,  boy !  was  she  hid  anywheres  about  that  stack '? 
1  've  had  that  in  my  mind  ever  since  I  quit  it ;  and  I  'm  mad, 
now,  that  it  did  n't  burn  up  !  " 

"  Give  me  an  oar  !  "  said  Mr.  Jackwood. 

"  You  'tend  to  your  steerin' !  "  answered  Dickson.  He  plied 
the  oars  vigorously  with  his  powerful  arms.  Mr.  Jackwood  sat 
in  the  stern,  and  steered  out  upon  the  dark  and  whirling  flood. 
Abimelech,  in  the  bow,  held  the  light.  At  first  the  current  car- 
ried the  boat  rapidly  down  stream ;  but,  having  crossed  the  chan- 
nel of  the  creek,  they  came  upon  the  comparatively  still  sheet  of 
water  that  overspread  the  meadows. 

"  Bim'lech,"  said  Mr.  Jackwood,  "  hold  up  the  lantern  as  high 
as  you  can  reach  !  " 

The  boy  placed  it  on  his  head,  and  stood  up  in  the  bow ;  Ihe 
light  shining  round  upon  the  gloomy  waves. 

"  Sit  down  !  you  '11  fall !  "  cried  his  father. 

"No,  I  won't!"  said  Bim,  grasping  the  lantern  with  both 
hands.  "  O-o-o-o  !  see  that  big  junk  o'  ice  ! " 

"How  fur  be  we  from  the  stack?"  asked  Dickson. 

"  Hold  your  oars  a  minute !  "  cried  the  farmer.  "  I  don'no 
'xac'ly  where  we  be." 

"  There  's  the  old  elm  !  "  cried  Abimelech.  "  An'  there  's  the 
knoll  beyend ! " 

"Are  you  sure  on't?"  —  Mr.  Jackwood  strained  his  eyes  in 
the  darkness.  —  "I  guess  you  're  right.  Go  ahead." 

Dickson  had  taken  advantage  of  the  pause,  to  sound  the  water 


THE   INUNDATION.  315 


with  his  oar.  "  'T  an't  over  two  foot  deep ! "  he  declared,  in 
astonishment. 

"  It 's  high  ground  here,"  said  the  farmer  "  It 's  lower  where 
the  stack  stands." 

"  Your  valley,  tucked  in  here  'twixt  the  mountains,"  observed 
Dickson,  pulling  again  at  the  oars,  "  is  like  the  bottom  cf  an 
almighty  big  tunn'l,  with  the  crick  for  the  spout.  Any  man 
that 's  used  to  the  country  should  'ave  knowed  better  than  to  leavo 
even  a  dumb  beast  down  here  in  sech  a  storm." 

Already  Mr.  Jackwood  was  suffering  unspeakable  trouble  of 
mind  on  Charlotte's  account;  and  a  reproach  from  such  a  source 
filled  his  hot  heart  to  choking  fulness. 

"  Who  'd  a'  knowed,"  cried  Bim,  "  't  was  goin'  to  rain  so  like 
gre't  guns?  See,  father  !  it's  turnin'  round  cold,  jest  as  you  said 
't  would !  The  rain  's  more  'n  half  snow,  now  !  " 

"  Be  still,  Bim'lech !  "  said  the  farmer,  in  a  hoarse  voice. 

"  Hello  !  "  ejaculated  the  boy,  "  there  's  the  fence.  There  's 
only  jest  the  top-board  and  the  ends  o'  the  po^ts  out  o'  the  water. 
O-o-o-o  !  a  little  more,  an'  you  'd  smashed  right  into  it !  " 

To  pass  the  fence,  it  was  necessary  to  drop  down  once  more 
towards  the  channel  of  the  creek.  They  had  not  proceeded  far 
when  they  found  the  boards  torn  away,^and  the-  posts  broken 
down.  It  was  at  the  spot  where  the  crushing  mass  of  ice,  arrived 
at  a  bend  in  the  stream,  had  overswept  the  banks,  and  rushed 
down  towards  the  stack.  As  they  passed  the  fence,  Dickson 
rested  on  his  oars,  and  shouted.  No  reply. 

•'  I  thought  I  heard  a  sheep  bl'at,"  said  Bim.  "  Father !  look 
out  for  them  bushes  !  " 

"  Pull  away  !  "  cried  the  farmer. 

"  I  heard  somethin',"  Dickson  declared.  "  The  stack  can't  be 
fur  off,  now." 

"  There  !  "  exclaimed  Abimelech  ;  "  that  was  a  sheep  !  It 
bl'ated  agin  !  I  see  the  stack !  " 

"  Your  eyes  are  better  'n  mine,"  said  Dickson,  glancing  over  his 
shoulder.  "  I  see  somethin',  though,  out  there  in  the  dark." 

"  Why  don't  she  answer,  I  wonder  ?  If  she  's  on  the  shed,  I 
should  think  she'd  see  the  light,  and  call  us,"  said  Bim. 


316  THE   INUNDATION. 


"  Jest  my  luck  !  "  growled  Dickson.  "  It  makes  me  mad  to  lose 
a  gal  that  way  !  " 

"  Keep  your  light  out  o'  my  eyes !  "  cried  Mr.  Jackwood,  as, 
gazing  over  the  bow,  he  stared  in  the  direction  of  the  gloomy 


"  Had  n't  I  better  be  bailin'  a  little?"  asked  Abimelech,  fright- 
ened.  "  The  boat 's  'most  half  full  o'  water  !  " 

"  Hold  your  lantern  !  "  said  his  father,  sternly.  A  yellow  glim- 
mer of  light  touched  the  stack.  The  shed  was  not  yet  visible. 

"  We  're  on  the  wrong  side  !  "  'said  Bim.  "  How  did  that  hap- 
pen ?  —  0  !  see  them  sheep  !  " 

The  boat  passed  the  stack,  and  came  around  under  its  lee.  By 
the  light  of  the  lantern,  a  number  of  sheep  could  .  now  be  seen 
huddling  together  in  the  eddies,  and  holding  their  noses  above 
water  against  the  side  of  the  stack.  As  the  boat  approached, 
one  of  them  was  seen  to  lose  its  hold,  and,  after  a  struggle  to 
regain  it,  fall  into  the  current  and  disappear.  It  passed  within 
reach  of  Mr.  Jackwood's  hand,  but  his  eyes  were  fixed  elsewhere. 

"  Where  is  your  shed,  —  I  'd  like  to  know  ?  "  demanded  Dick- 
son. 

"  0  !  "  exclaimed  Abimelech,  —  "  father,  see  !  it 's  gone  !  the 
shed  is  gone !." 

Mr.  Jackwood  sprang  up  in  the  boat,  thrust  his  feet  in  the 
notches  left  by  the  roof  of  the  shed,  and  mounted  the  stack.  It 
was  his  last  hope.  But  no  Charlotte  was  there.  Only  her  shawl, 
which  he  found  freezing  fast  to  a  board,  against  which  it  had 
blown,  remained  as  a  memento  of  the  night  of  terror  she  had 
passed  in  that  fearful  spot. 

Dickson  was  not  satisfied  with  Mr.  Jackwood's  examination. 
"  Here,  boy!  "  said  he,  '-give  me  the  lantern,  and  take  this  oar. 
Hold  it  so-fash"n,  and  keep  the  boat  up  against  the  stack." 

Abimelech  obeyed,  and  Dickson  mounted  the  stack,  after  the 
farmer,  lantern  in  hand. 

"  0  !  "  screamed  the  boy,  "  the  boat 's  goin'  off,  and  I  can't 
help  it !  Father  !  come  !  " 

Mr.  Jackwood  was  gazing  around  upon  the  waste  of  waters,  in 
a  state  if  stupefaction,  when  Abimelech's  cries  aroused  him. 


THE   INUNDATION.  317 


"  Reach  me  the  eend  o'  the  oar  !  "  he  exclaimed,  springing  to 
the  .side  of  the  stack. 

"  0  !  quick  !  "  cried  the  boy,  "  hold  the  lantern,  you  man  !  " 

"  I  've  got  ye  !  "  said  Mr.  Jackwood.  ''  Keep  tight  holt !  " 
And  he  drew  the  boat  alongside. 

"  Why  did  n't  ye  do  as  I  told  ye  ?  "  growled  Dickson.  '  The 
curr'nt  pushed  the  boat  against  the  stack,  and  all  you  had  to  do 
was  to  keep  the  bow  from  swinging  round.  Are  ye  a  fool?" 

"  Darn  that  man  !  "  said  Bim.     "  I  wish  he  was  drownded  !  " 

"  Hush,  Bim'lech  !  "  said  Mr.  Jackwood,  stepping  into  the  boat. 
"  Gi'  me  the  oars." 

"What  a' ye  "bout?"  demanded  Dickson,  hastily  descending 
the  stack.  "  Come  back  here  !  Take  me  aboard  !  " 

"  I  got  to  look  out  for  them  'ere  lambs,"  said  Mr.  Jackwood, 
rowing  around  the  stack.  "  Hold  the  lantern  over  on  this 
aide." 

Dickson  perceived  that  he  was  in  a  precarious  position,  and  that 
his  wisest  course  would  be  to  comply  with  the  farmer's  request. 
He  accordingly  climbed  over  to  the  opposite  side  of  the  stack,  and 
held  the  light,  while  Mr.  Jackwood  pulled  the  sheep,  one  aftei 
another,  over  the  bow  of  the  boat. 

"  There  's  only  five  out  of 'leven,"  said  Bim.  "  Bat  I  'm  glad 
there  an't  no  more;  we  should  sink.  O  !  the  water  almost  come 
over  the  side,  then  !  " 

"  Here  !  an't  ye  goin'  to  take  me  aboard  ? "  asked  Diokson, 
with  increasing  alarm. 

"  Not  with  this  load,"  replied  the  farmer.  "  I  told  ye  there 
•would  n't  be  room." 

"  Look  a'  here  ! "  remonstrated  Dickson,  "  there  's  room  enough 
there ! " 

"  I  've  got  to  bail  like  anything  !  "  exclaimed  Bim,  plying  the 
dipper.  "  Don't  ye  go  back,  father  !  I  'd  leave  him  there,  —  I 
would  ! " 

"  'Tend  to  your  bailin',  Bim'lech ! "  said  Mr.  Jackwood,  sol- 
emnly. 

"  An't  ye  conin'  ?  "  cried  Dickson.      "  Don't  leave  a  feller  in 
\his  way,  now  !     Han't  ye  got  no  human  feelin's?  " 
27* 


318  THE   INUNDATION. 


Mr.  Jackwood  made  no  reply,  but  rowed  steadily  and  strongly 
across  the  stream.  Dickson  roared  with  wrath. 

"  He  's  changed  his  tune,  han't  he?  "  said  Abimelech.  "  He  '2 
good  to  hold  the  lantern  ;  we  can  see  the  light,  and  tell  where  we 
be.  Hear  him  swear !  " 

"Never  mind  him,"  answered  the  farmer.  "  Look  ahead,  there, 
and  see  if  I  'm  ruunin'  into  anything." 

"  These  sheep  can't  stand  on  their  legs  ! "  said  Bim.  "  They 
lay  right  down  in  the  water,  and  I  han't  hardly  got  room  to  bail. 
Say,  father,  ye  don't  think  Charlotte  's  got  drownded,  do  ye  ?  " 

"  Are  them  bushes  ahead,  there  ?     'Tend  to  what  I  tell  ye ! " 

"  We  Ve  passed  all  the  bushes,  I  guess.  I  don't  see  none.  — • 
1  bet  she  got  off  the  interval,  somehow ;  /  could.  Where  do  ye 
s'pose  she  's  gone  to  ?  " 

Mr.  Jackwood  rowed  steadily  until  the  boat  struck  the  ground  ; 
then  stepping  ashore,  with  the  boy's  assistance  he  drew  the  bow 
up  out  of  water. 

"  You  won't  be  afraid,  will  ye,  if  I  leave  ye  to  take  care  o'  the 
lambs?  You  can  git  'em  up  to  the  barn  some  way,  if  you  haf  to 
take  one  't  a  time." 

"  Where  ye  goin'  ?  to  bring  him  from  the  stack  ?  "  asked 
Abimelech,  timidl}7. 

"  Not  jest  yit,"  replied  his  father. 

"  I  do'  wanter  stay  alone  !  "  exclaimed  the  boy.  "  Le'  me  go 
to  the  house  with  ye,  and  git  Phoebe  or  Hove  to  come  and  help 
with  the  lambs." 

"  Come  along,  then,"  said  the  farmer.  They  had  emptied  the 
water  out  of  the  boat,  leaving  the  sheep  in  it ;  and,  having  taken 
the  precaution  to  drag  it  a  few  feet  further  upon  the  snow,  they 
set  out  for  the  house. 

"  Where  do  you  s'pose  Charlotte  is  ?  "  inquired  the  boy,  keep- 
ing close  to  his  father's  side. 

"  All  you  Ve  got  to  do  is  to  git  the  lambs  up  ;  so,  don't  ax  no 
more  questions,"  said  the  farmer. 

Arrived  at  the  barn,  he  bridled  a  horse,  and  took  him  from  the 
ptable ;  then,  without  waiting  to  say  even  a  parting  word  to  his 
familj ,  he  mounted  at  the  gate,  and  rode  away  in  the  darkness. 


XXXV  J  I. 

RUMORS. 

"  DAUGHTER,"  said  Squire  Greenwich,  crossing  his  logs  and  sad- 
dling his  spectacles  upon  his  knee,  "  this  Sabbath  morning  appears 
a  fitting  occasion,  and  we  will  proceed  to  a  settlement."  The  smack 
of  his  precise  lips  was  an  awful  sound  to  poor  Etty.  She  cauio 
forward,  trembling  and  weeping. 

"The  child  is •  down  sick,  this  morning!"  interceded  the 
mother. 

"  Mrs.  Greenwich  !  "  said  the  paternal  head,  "  your  assistance 
is  not  called  for.  Put  down  your  hands,  daughter."  Etty's  right 
hand  dropped  by  her  side.  "  I  said,  put  down  your  hands !  " 
Down  went  the  left,  and  up  went  the  right.  "  D-a-u-gh-t-e-r  ! '' 
pronounced  the  squire's  warning  voice.  After  a  violent  struggle 
with  herself,  Etty  uncovered  her  pale  face  and  inflamed  eyes. 
"  Look  at  me,  daughter  !  " 

Etty  raised  a  timid  glance  to  her  father's  face  ;  but  a  glimpse 
of  Robert's  threatening  visage  opposite  immediately  put  her  out 
of  countenance. 

"  The  poor  child  has  such  a  cold  in  her  head  and  eyes  !  "  inter- 
posed the  mother. 

"Mrs.  Greenwich  !  how  many  times  have  I  to  request  that  you 
will  not  interfere  with  my  discipline  ?  Daughter,  innocence  is 
never  afraid  to  look  justice  in  the  face ;  but  guilt  is  fearful  and 
downcast.  We  cannot  proceed  until  that  I  have  your  eye." 

A  painful  scene  followed,  during  which  the  affrighted  child  en- 
deavored to  obey.  Her  father's  discipline  was  strict  as  mathe- 
matics ;  and  she  could  no  more  escape  from  its  laws,  than  she 
could  make  an  equilateral  triangle  with  four  sides. 


320  RUMORS. 


"That  will  do,"  he  said,. at  length,  as,  with  a  powerful  effort  of 
will,  she  fixed  her  burning  gaze  upon  the  end  of  his  nose.  "Now 
I  will  have  your  motive  for  visiting  Mr.  Dunbury's  people,  with« 
out  permission." 

"  I  was  at  cousin  Charles'.  —  Robert  was  playing  chess  with 
cousin  Josephine,  —  nobody  minded  anything  about  me ;  and,  as  I 
wanted  to  see  Miss  Woods  —  "  Etty  looked  down  again.  She 
felt  llobert's  piercing  gaze,  and  forgot  to  keep  her  eyes  fixed  on 
the  paternal  nose. 

"  Go  on,  daughter.     Your  eye  !  " 

"  That  is  all.     I  am  sorry  I  disobeyed  you,  but  —  " 

"It  remains,"  said  the  paternal  head,  inhaling  a  pinch  of  snuff, 
"  that  you  should  show  sufficient  cause  for  taking  so  unusual  and 
unladylike  a  step.  We  might  imagine  circumstances  which,  by 
their  apparent  necessity,  would  palliate  the  offence,  and  abate 
somewhat  of  the  punishment.  Have  you  anything  of  that  sort  tc 
advance?" 

Robert  looked  daggers  into  the  child's  very  soul,  and  she  was 
silent. 

"  Daughter,  hold  up  your  right  hand  !  " 

"  Don't  be  too  severe,  Mr.  Greenwich  !  Consider,  the  poor 
child  is  down  sick  —  " 

"  Mrs.  Greenwich  !  " 

"  I  beg  pardon  !"  and  Mrs.  Greenwich  shrank  again  into  appro- 
priate insignificance. 

"The  sentence  is  this:  you,  daughter  Henrietta,  for  the  faults 
committed  and  confessed  by  you,  are  condemned  to  solitary  con- 
finement at  home  for  nine  days  and  an  equal  number  of  nights, 
commencing  from  this  hour.  During  this  time,  you  are  to  partake 
of  no  nutriment  but  bread  and  water ;  and  speak  to  no  one  per- 
son but  the  paternal  head.  For  each  transgression  of  these  regu- 
lations, one  day  shall  be  added  to  your  term  of  punishment." 

Etty  burst  into  tears.  The  punishment  seemed  greater  than  she 
could  bear. 

"  Still,  if  you  can  advance  any  sufficient  reason  for  walking 
through  the  wet  snow  to  Mr.  Dunbury's  house,  and  perilling  your 
health,  I  shall  be  gratified  to  hear  it." 


RUMORS.  321 


Etty  gave  an  appealing  look  to  Robert.  He  knew  all ,  for,  on 
returning  home  the  night  before,  and  telling  where  she  had  been 
and  what  she  had  seen,  he  had  seized  her  as  an  eagle  a  lamb,  and 
torn  out  the  heart  of  her  secret.  But  he  was  merciless  ;  he  held 
her  with  his  terrible  eye,  and  opened  not  his  mouth.  She  would 
not  have  wished  him  to  convict  himself,  to  spare  her ;  she  chose 
to  suffer,  rather  than  see  his  guilt  exposed  ;  but  she  felt  that  a 
word  from  him  might  soften  her  father's  severity,  and  turn  aside 
the  sharpness  of  the  penalties. 

"  You  're  a  brave  girl  !  "  he  muttered,  passing  by  her  ;  "  only 
go  through  with  it  as  you  have  begun  !  " 

He  stepped  to  the  door  to  admit  a  visitor.  It  was  cousin 
Charles  Creston,  a  chatty  little  man,  who  had  called  to  discuss 
the  occurrences  which  —  to  quote  bis  phrase  —  were  agitating  the 
whole  village  ! 

"  Etty  brought  us  the  news  last  night,"  said  Robert,  care 
lessly. 

"  Bless  you  !  "  cried  the  chatty  little  man,  "  then  you  have  n't 
heard  the  tragical  termination  !  "  Robert,  with  evident  alarm,  said 
he  had  not.  "  It 's  distressing  !  I  dropped  into  the  tavern,  just 
now,"  said  the  voluble  Charles  ;  "  the  slave-hunters  had  just  come 
in,  and  all  the  talk  was  about  Charlotte  's  being  drowned  last 
night,  There  can't  be  any  mistake,"  he  added,  eagerly ;  "  foi 
one  of  the  men  passed  the  night  at  Mr.  Jackwood's.  Charlotte 
was  hid  in  a  stack,  when  the  creek  broke  up,  and  the  valley  was 
flooded." 

"  0,  Robert !  "  burst  forth  Etty. 

"  One  day  more  added  to  the  nine,  my  daughter,"  pronounced 
the  paternal  head. 

"  Pshaw  !  "  said  Robert,  with  an  incredulous.air,  — but  his  face 
grew  deadly  pale,  —  "  I  don't  believe  the  story  !  If  't  was  true, 
the  men  would  not  be  so  ready  to  report  it." 

"  Why  not,  since  they  would  wish  to  give  their  version  first  ?  " 
cried  Mr.  Creston.  '•  They  throw  all  the  blame  upon  Mr.  Jack- 
wood  ;  and  they  are  doing  all  they  can  to  make  themselves  popu- 
lar, by  treating  every  loafer  in  the  village  who  will  drink  with 
them.  But  't  won't  do  ;  there  's  a  tremendous  excitement  against 


322  RUMORS. 


them,  and  there  's  talk  that  they  '11  get  tarred  and  feathered,  and 
rode  out  of  town  on  rails.  I  'd  delight  to  see  it !  "  chuckled 
Charles. 

"  Son  Robert !  "  called  the  squire,  —  Robert  had  seized  his  hat, 
—  "  where  are  you  going  ?  If  to  the  tavern,  listen  to  the  paternal 
counsel,  and  forbear.  Son  Robert,  do  you  hear?" 

Son  Robert  gave  no  heed.  "  Remember  !  "  he  muttered,  as  he 
passed  by  Etty's  chair.  He  left  the  house  ;  hastened  to  the  tav- 
ern ;  moved  for  a  few  minutes  amid  the  excited  crowd ;  then, 
mount.ing  a  horse,  galloped  down  the  splashy  road,  with  his  fierce 
eye  fixed  upon  the  lake  that  spread  over  the  valley. 

Throwing  himself  from  the  saddle  at  Mr.  Jackwood's  door,  he 
knocked  for  admittance ;  but  Phoebe  and  Abimelech  were  alone, 
locked  up,  as  in  a  fortress.  Only  Rover's  sharp  bark  answered 
from  within,  Robert  walked  around  to  the  back  door ;  and 
Phoebe,  observing  him  from  the  window,  ran,  with  a  fluttering 
heart,  to  admit  him. 

"  Are  you  alone,  Phcebe  ?  "  asked  Robert,  in  a  hollow  voice. 

"  The  folks  have  gone  to  meeting ;  but  Bim  is  here,"  replied 
Phcebe,  with  extreme  coldness  of  manner.  "  Come  in,  —  if  you 
like."  It  was  his  first  visit  since  his  desertion  of  her,  some  months 
before  ;  and  the  memory  of  her  wrongs  swelled  up  within  her.  He 
did  not  stop  to  flatter  her,  or  excuse  himself;  but  broke  forth  at 
once  with  inquiries  for  Charlotte.  Phcebe  burst  into  tears. 

"  I  'd  give  my  life,"  he  said,  —  and  remorse  and  despair  were 
gnawing  at  his  heart,  —  "  to  know  that  she  was  safe  !  She  was 
an  angel,  Phcebe  ;  and  she  was  your  best  friend." 

"  I  know  it  now  !  "  sobbed  Phoebe.  "  But  you  made  me  believe 
she  was  not !  Why  did  you  ?  "  And  she  went  on  to  tell  the  tragic 
tale.  Robert's  seul  smote  him,  as  he  listened  ;  and  when  it  was 
finished,  without  a  word  he  staggered  to  the  door,  mounted  his 
horse,  and  rode  back,  gnashing  his  teeth,  to  the  village. 


O,  noble  heart  of  woman  !  how  little  thou  art  known  to  selfish 
man  !  How  little,  stooping  to  low  ends  of  worldly  advantage  or 
pleasure,  thou,  fairest  spirit  of  God's  visible  universe,  knowcst  the 
suveivignty  of  thine  own  power  !  lie  thyself!  Come  up  from 


RUMORS.  323 


the  mist  of  worldliness  that  shrouds  thee,  let  the  glory  of  divine 
love  shine  through  thy  purer  image  into  the  heart  of  man,  and 
thou  shalt  see  him  rise  into  new. being;  thou  shalt  see  his  soul, 
expanding,  burst  its  chains  of  passion  and  take  wings ;  thou  shalt 
see  thine  own  true  mission  then  begun,  if  not  fulfilled. 

Hector,  baffled  and  impatient,  was  waiting  in  Mobile  for  the 
steamer  to  sail  that  was  to  take  him  on  his  homeward  journey. 
But  for  the  influence  of  woman  soothing  and  restraining  him,  his 
racked  mind  could  scarce  have  borne  its  suffering  and  suspense. 
How  could  he  have  lived  through  those  torturing  hours  (he  after- 
wards wondered  within  himself),  had  it  not  been  for  her  who  en- 
couraged him  to  wait,  and  trust,  and  to  meet  all  things  by  heaven 
ordained  to  discipline  and  teach  us,  with  a  cairn  and  patient  faith, 
believing  in  the  good  !  Mrs.  Graves,  who  had  before  been  Char- 
lotte's friend,  was  now  his.  On  the  evening  of  the  day  following 
that  of  his  transactions  with  Dr.  Tanwood,  they  sat  together  in 
the  parlor  of  Mr.  Copliff's  house.  In  the  midst  of  their  conver- 
sation, Helen  entered,  and,  taking  au  ottoman,  seated  herself  at 
their  feet. 

"  I  have  n't  told  you  about  the  ball,"  she  began,  in  her  joyous 
tones.  "  I  had  the  honor  of  dancing  with  Robinson  Crusoe,  San- 
cho  Pariza,  and  the  Wandering  Jew.  That  saucy  Count  of  Monte 
Christo  had  the  impudence  to  offer  me  his  hand  !  Do  you  remem- 
ber "  —  her  voice  changed,  and  she  looked  up  with  glistening  eyes 
into  Hector's  face  —  "  how  often  I  used  to  sit  with  you  so,  a 
year  ago,  and  make  you  talk  to  me  ?  But  you  do  not  talk  to  me 
any  more  now  !  " 

"  Ah,  Helen  !  yon  will  know  some  day  what  a  mountain  rests 
on  my  heart !  "  said  Hector. 

Helen  dropped  her  face  upon  her  cousin's  lap,  and  sat  for  a 
long  time  very  quiet  and  still  ;  but  at  length,  sad  thoughts  steal- 
ing over  her,  she  began  to  weep,  and,  ashamed  of  her  emotiun, 
she  sprang  to  her  feet,  and  hurried  from  the  room. 

"  Helen  is  a  good  girl,"  said  Mrs.  Graves,  with  thoughtful  ten- 
derness. "  Your  friend  Joseph  thinks  it  the  one  great  mistake  (if 
your  life,  that  you  did  not  marry  her." 

"  O,  Joseph  i,s  kind  !    Had  I  looked  only  for  beauty,  for  wealth 


324  RUMORS. 


and  honorable  connections,  even  for  a  gentle  and  tender  heart, 
Helen  would  have  been  everything  I  could  desire,"  said  Hector. 
"But  what  are  all  those  attributes,  compared  with  such  a  soul 
as  —  " 

"  Speak  the  name  !     I  love  to  hear  it  from  your  lips." 

"  I  am  very  weak,"  said  Hector. 

•  "No,  I  think  you  strong!  Your  devotion  to  poor  Camille 
gives  me  an  inspiration  as  when  I  read  of  heroic  deeds.  In  my 
experience  in  this  groping  world,  I  had  almost  abandoned  the  hope 
of  finding  a  man  who  could  penetrate  with  the  clear  glance  of  truth 
the  thick  walls  of  prejudice  and  conventionality,  which  shut  us  out 
from  the  realities  of  existence.  This  appears  all  the  more  glorious 
in  one  who  possesses  a  great  power  over  the  human  heart,  for  evil 
or  for  good,  —  like  you." 

"  O,  could  I  but  feel  that  I  have  always  used  that  power  for 
good  !  "  said  Hector. 

"  Your  whole  life  moves  like  a  panorama  befure  my  eye,"  re- 
sumed the  other,  after  a  pause.  "  It  is  pure,  compared  with  the 
world's.  But  you  have  attained  luminous  heights,  from  which, 
looking  down,  the  paths  you  lately  trod  appear  all  dark  and 
soiled.  It  is  well  to  contemplate  them  at  times  ;  for  the  sight, 
repelling  you,  gives  you  a  nobler  impulse  to  ascend." 

A  sudden  spasm  convulsed  Hector's  features.  "She  culls  to 
me!"  he  said,  faintly.  "Just  now  her  cry  of  anguish  shot  through 
me,  —  nothing  could  be  more  terribly  real !  " 

The  door  opened  ;  he  looked  up,  with  a  start,  as  Joseph  Spalding 
entered.  "  What  news  ?  " 

"  Have  you  heard  from  your  telegraphic  despatch  ? "  a.-ked 
Joseph,  drawing  him  aside. 

"  No  ;  but  you  have  something  for  me  !  "  cried  Hector. 

"  You  are  right,"  faltered  Joseph,  with  a  painfully  embarrassed 
manner.  "  I  received  this  evening  a  request  to  call  on  Dr.  Tan- 
wood." 

"  Speak  out !  "  exclaimed  Hector.     "  What  has  been  done  ?  " 

"  After  our  previous  interview,  you  can  imagine  that  a  polite 
note  from  the  doctor  took  me  by  surprise.  My  suspicions  were 
aroused,  and  I  went  prepared  —  " 


RUMORS.  325 


"  For  heaven's  sake,  omit  details,  and  come  to  the  point ! " 

"  I  found  the  doctor  extremely  civil ;  he  brought  out  his  decan- 
ter, we  drank,  and  came  to  business,"  said  Joseph.  "  On  reflec- 
tion, he  had  concluded  to  accept  our  offer.  '  On  reflection,'  said  I, 
4  we  have  concluded  to  withdraw  it.'  " 

"  Withdraw  it  ?  "  echoed  Hector. 

"  Certainly,"  said  Joseph  ;  "  for  I  was  sure  that  if  he  would 
take  any  sum,  he  would  take  less." 

"  What  have  you  there  ?  "  demanded  Hector.  "  A  letter,  — 
for  me !  " 

"  You  shall  have  it  presently,"  remonstrated  Joseph,  more  and 
more  troubled  ;  "  but  hear  my  story  !  " 

"  Give  it  me  !  "  cried  Hector,  alarmed  and  impatient.  There 
was  a  struggle,  and  he  seized  it.  Mrs.  Graves  ran  to  Joseph, 
who  gave  her  an  appealing  look. 

"  It  will  kill  him  ! "  he  said.    "  There  is  a  telegraphic  despatch." 

"From  Camille?" 

"  From  the  hunters  of  Camille  ;  it  came  to  Dr.  Tanwood.  It 
is  terrible  !  Hector  !  "  said  Joseph. 

"  Drowned  !  "  gasped  Hector,  clutching  the  paper.  "  They  have 
killed  her  !  "  He  tore  away  from  his  friends,  and  rushed  out  in 
the  direction  of  Dr.  Tanwood's  house,  furious  to  know  the  truth, 
and  to  confront  the  author  of  his  calamity.  Joseph  ran  after  him  ; 
but  neither  force  nor  entreaty  could  restrain  the  frenzied  man. 
Fierce  and  rapid  strides  brought  him  to  the  doctor's  door  ;  Joseph 
still  clinging  to  his  arm,  and  urging  unheeded  words  of  counsel 
and  consolation. 

The  doctor  was  gone  from  home. 


XXXVIII. 

«R   RUKELY'S  GREAT  SERMON. 

.Mn.  KUK/LT  had  been  all  the  week  engaged  in  preparing  his 
great  sermon  on  the  "  Duties  of  Christian  Citizens  in  the  Present 
Crisis ;  "  a  theme  adjudged  highly  appropriate  to  be  considered 
on  the  advent  of  the  New  Year.  No  other  discourse  he  had  ever 
written  had  cost  him  so  much  labor  as  this.  On  Saturday  night 
it  was  finished.  But  the  young  minister's  excited  brain  would  not 
let  him  sleep ;  and  towards  morning  he  lay  thinking  of  what  he 
had  written,  and  imagining  the  effect  it  would  produce  upon  his 
congregation,  until  he  felt  an  irresistible  impulse  to  get  up,  strike 
a  light,  and  read  over  certain  passages,  which  contained  the  strong 
and  eloquent  points  of  the  sermon.  His  movements  awakened  his 
wife.  "  Don't  be  disturbed,  my  dear,"  said  he.  "  I  am  going  to 
write  a  Kttle." 

Bertha,  languidly  :  "  I  thought  your  sermon  was  finished." 

Mr.  Rukely,  rubbing  a  match  :  "  It  is,  my  dear.  But  there  are 
one  or  two  things  I  want  to  alter." 

Bertha,  rubbing  her  eyes  :  "  I  don't  see  how  you  can  better  it. 
What  you  read  to  me  last  night  seemed  as  good  as  it  could  be." 

"  If  I  remember  rightly,  it  sent  you  to  sleep,  my  dear." 

"  It  was  n't  the  sermon,  — -  't  was  the  rain.  What  a  storm  we 
have  had  !  —  lam  afraid  you  won't  see  so  large  a  congregation 
to-day  as  you  expected." 

Mr.  liukely,  with  his  fifth  match:  "The  people  are  looking 
for  my  sermon  on  the  New  Year ;  and  I  think  there  will  be  a 
pretty  general  turn-out  to  hear  it,  unless  the  roads  should  be  too 
bad,  There  is  a  lively  interest  in  the  church  to  know  what  view 
I  take  of  the  subject.  It  is  generally  supposed  that  —  " 


MR.  RUKELY'S  GREAT  SERMON.  327 


"  You  '11  burn  your  fingers  !  "  cried  Bertha. 

"  I  hope  not,"  replied  Mr.  Rukely,  with  a  placid  smile,  drop- 
ping the  match.  "  Where  is  the  lamp  ?  " 

"  You  must  have  left  it  in  the  other  room,  where  you  were 
writing." 

In  ten  minutes  Bertha  was  once  more  sleeping  soundly,  while 
the  young  minister  corrected  and  interlined  passages  in  his  sermon, 
by  the  sitting-room  fire.  He  read  aloud  to  himself.  "The  great 
danger  consists  in  taking  narrow  and  sectional' views  of  a  subject 
which  should  only  be  regarded  in  a  broad,  national  light.  Let 
us  remember  that  the  interests  and  safety  of  the  country  are  at 
stake.  If  we  would  preserve  intact  the  noble  heritage  be- 
queathed us  by  the  fathers  of  American  independence,  we  must 
listen  to  the  dictates  of  an  expanded  and  lofty  patriotism,  and 
suffer  no  northern  or  southern  prejudices  to  sully  the  bright  —  " 

Mr.  Rukely  thought  he  heard  a  voice.  — "  Did  you  speak, 
my  dear  ?  " 

"  I  thought  you  called  me,"  said  Bertha,  half  awake. 

"  I  was  reading,"  replied  Mr.  Rukely  ;  "  I  had  forgotten  that  I 
was  not  in  the  pulpit.  If  you  would  like  to  hear  me,  I  will  leave 
the  door  open." 

"  Certainly,"  said  poor  Bertha. 

"  Tell  me,"  added  her  husband,  "  if  you  observe  any  expression 
that  will  be  liable  to  misconstruction.  It  is  an  extremely  delicate 
subject,  and  every  statement  should  be  worded  with  care.  Watch 
closely." 

Bertha  promised,  and  Mr.  Rukely  resumed  his  reading.  Hav- 
ing finished  a  passage,  he  called  for  her  criticisms.  "  To  tell  the 
truth,"  said  Bertha,  arousing  herself,  "my  mind  was  wandering 
again.  Do  I  understand  that  we  are  not  to  protect  a  fugitive  ?  " 

•'  Is  it  not  just  ?  "  cried  the  minister.  "  Have  we  a  right  to  peril 
the  welfare  and  happiness  of  a  nation,  by  espousing  the  cause  of 
one  man,  against  the  laws  made  to  protect  and  regulate  all  ?  " 

"  It  is  clear,"  answered  Bertha,  "  we  have  no  such  right."  And 
she  fell  again  into  a  light  slumber,  while  her  husband  went  on 
with  his  reading.  Having  completed  another  strong  passage.  "  Is 
not  that  argument  conclusive  ?  "  he  asked,  triumphantly. 


328  MIL  RUKKLY'S  GREAT  SERMON. 


Bertha,  starting  :  "  Entirely  so  ! — But  —  I  am  not  sure  that 
I  have  fully  grasped  the  idea.  Will  you  read  the  last  few  sen- 
tences again  ?  " 

Mr.  llukely  complied  readily.  But,  in  the  midst  of  a  lofty  and 
eloquent  strain,  he  was  disagreeably  interrupted  by  a  noise  from 
the  kitchen.  "  What 's  that  ?  "  cried  Bertha. 

"  Some  person  at  the  back  door.  I  wonder  who  can  be  stirring 
at  this  hour?" 

"  Sunday  morninsr,  too  !  "  said  Bertha. 

The  minister  wrapped  his  morning-gown  about  him,  and,  step- 
ping into  the  kitchen,  pushed  back  the  bolt,  and  turned  the  key  in 
the  lock.  The  day  had  scarcely  dawned.  It  was  snowing  fast. 
A  man  stood  out  in  the  storm,  supporting  a  human  figure  upon  a 
horse. . 

"  Make  way,  Mr.  llukely  !  "  said  the  man.  "  'T  an't  no  timo 
for  words,  an'  I  '11  ax  pardon  for  intrudin'  some  other  time."  As 
he  spoke,  he  suffered  the  figure  to  sink  upon  his  shoulder ;  then, 
clasping  it  in  his  arms,  he  bore  it  past  the  astonished  minister,  into 
the  house. 

"  What  is  the  trouble  ?  "  cried  Mr.  Rukely. 

"  The  fust  thing,  help  me  git  this  'ere  poor  gal  to  a  fire  !  "  said 
the  man. 

"  This  way  !  "  exclaimed  the  minister,  throwing  open  the  sitting- 
room  door.  '•  Here,  sir  !  —  Wait  a  minute  !  "  He  wheeled  the  sofa 
to  the  fire,  and  assisted  him  to  place  his  burden  upon  it.  "  What 
has  happened  to  her?"  putting  back  the  girl's  wet  hair,  and 
arranging  the  cushion  beneath  her  head.  "  Good  heavens !  Char- 
lotte Woods !  " 

"  She  's  ben  drownded,  an'  then  'most  froze  to  death  !  "  uttered 
the  man,  in  a  choked  voice.  "  Where 's  your  wife  ?  " 

"  Bertha  !  "  cried  Mr.  llukely. 

"  What  is  it  ?  Did  you  say  Charlotte  ?  "  articulated  Bertha, 
rushing  out  from  the  bed-chamber.  "  Drowned?" 

She  flew  to  Charlotte's  siile,  and  bent  over  her,  pressing  her 
temples  with  a  frightened,  eager  gaze.  "Charlotte!  where  have 
you  been?  What  is  the  matter,  Mr.  Jack\vood  ?  "  she  demanded, 
wildly, 


MR.  RUKELY'S  GREAT  SERMON.  329 


"  'T  would  be  a  long  story  ;  we  'd  better  be  gittin'  her  drjr  an' 
warm  fust,"  said  the  farmer,  rubbing  Charlotte's  cold  hand. 

"  Be  calm,  my  dear  !  "  remarked  Mr.  Rukely.  "  I  will  call 
Matilda  —  " 

"  Who  is  Matilda?"  interrupted  Mr.  Jackwood. 

"  Matilda  Fosdick,  who  is  living  with  us,"  said  Bertha. 

"  Livin'  with  you  ?  "  echoed  the  farmer.  "  That 's  bad  !  But 
she  can  keep  a  secret,  can't  she,  when  a  human  critter's  life 
depends  on  't  ?  " 

"  What  do  you  mean  ?  "  cried  Bertha. 

"You  han't  heard  nothin',  then,  o'  what  happened  up  to  Mr. 
Dunbury's,  last  night  ?  " 

"  We  have  heard  nothing  !  " 

"  Never  mind  ;  you  '11  hear  quick  enough  !  —  If  Matilda  is  a 
gal  to  be  trusted,  call  her  up.  She  'd  haf  to  know  Cha'lotte  was 
in  the  house,  some  time  or  'iiother,  I  s'pose.  The  fust  thing  to  be 
thought  on  is  to  git  dry  clo's  on  to  her." 

"  Help  me  roll  the  sofa  into  the  bed-room,"  cried  Bertha.  "  I 
can  undress  her,  and  put  her  into  my  bed." 

"  We  'd  better  call  the  doctor,"  said  Mr.  Rukely.  "  He  is  a 
trustworthy  man,  and  if  there  's  any  necessity  for  concealment  —  '' 

"  We  '11  talk  about  that,"  said  Mr.  Jackwood,  "  arterwards." 
He  assisted  in  wheeling  the  sofa  into  the  bed-room,  and,  leaving 
Charlotte  in  Bertha's  charge,  took  Mr.  Rukely  aside.  —  "  You  're 
a  man,"  said  he,  earnestly,  " 't  I  respect  above  all  others;  for 
you  got  talents  an'  larnin',  an',  more  'n  all  that,  your  heart 's  in 
the  right  place.  What  I  should  'a  done  for  Cha'lotte,  if  't  had  n't 
ben  for  you,  I  do'no'.  Her  an'  your  wife  's  old  friends  —  " 

"For  mercy's  sake,"  interrupted  Mr.  Rukely,  "  tell  me  what 
the  trouble  is  !  " 

"  I  do'no'  over-'n'-above  well,  myself,"  said  Mr.  Jackwood. 
"  It 's  suthin  't  I  can't  realize  nor  believe ;  but,  as  I  understand 
it,  Cha'lotte  's  a  fugitive,  an'  the  kidnabbers  are  arter  her." 

"  A  fugitive !  "  echoed  the  astonished  minister. 

Mr.  Jackwood :  "  I  han't  heard  her  say  nothin'  'bout  it,"  — 
with  a  glance  towards  the  bed-room,  —  "  but  one  thing 's  sartin,  — 
the  officers  are  arter  her,  —  they  've  ben  to  my  house,  and  to 
28* 


330  MR.  RUKELY'S  GREAT  SERMON. 


Mr.  Dunbury's,  —  an'  she  's  ben  out  all  night  in  the  storm,  to  keep 
away  from  'em." 

"  A  fugitive !  Charlotte  Woods ! ''  repeated  Mr.  Rukely 
aghast. 

"  She  was  hid  in  a  stack,"  added  the  farmer  ;  "  but  the  crick 
broke  up,  and  drownded  her  out.  She  got  up  on  the  shed ;  but 
that  was  put  there  arter  the  winter  set  in,  and  the  ground  was 
froze  :  the  posts  wan't  set  at  all,  and  the  thaw  left  'em  loose,  so  's 
't  when  the  water  come  they  washed  right  away.  As  good  luck 
would  have  it,  the  ruf  was  made  o'  rails  ;  they  was  held  together 
with  cleats ;  then  there  was  a  jag  o'  straw  on  top,  that  had  settled, 
and  kep'  'em  solid.  So,  when  the  ruf  tumbled  down,  Cha'lotte,  it 
'pears,  stuck  to  it.  I  tell  ye  what !  it  gi'  me  a  start  't  I  shan't 
git  over  in  a  hurry,  when  we  went  to  the  stack  in  a  boat,  an'  found 
her  missin' ;  but  her  shawl  was  on  the  stack,  and  suthin  kinder 
said  to  me,  '  That  never  could  got  there,  in  this  world,  'ithout  she 
was  on  the  shed  !  '  Then  says  I,  '  I  made  that  'ere  ruf  myself, 
an'  I  believe  it 's  held  together  ;  an'  if  't  has,  what 's  the  reason 
she  can't  be  swimmin'  on  't,  like  a  raft  ? '  1  thought  it  over  while 
I  was  gittin'  the  lambs  into  the  boat ;  then  the  idee  come  to  me, 
't  if  I  was  to  take  a  hoss,  an'  ride  down  to  Osborne's  Flats,  I 
might  hear  suthin  of  her.  There  's  a  place  down  there,  —  p'raps 
you  don'  know,  —  't  makes  a  big,  shaller  basin,  when  the  crick  rises 
up  to  it ;  there  's  al'ays  a  kind  o'  whirlpool  there,  time  o'  freshets, 
where  flood-wood,  an'  everything  o'  that  kind,  settles  in,  an'  swims 
round,  sometimes,  for  half  a  day,  'fore  't  goes  off  down  the  crick. 
I  knowcd  the  road,  an'  could  find  the  flats  the  darkest  night,  with 
a  hoss;  but  I  felt  ticklish  about  vent'rin'  in  the  boat.  So  I 
jumped  on  ol'  Dan,  an'  started  off.  I  found  the  goin'  dre'ful  bad ; 
but  I  got  along  perty  well,  till  I  come  to  the  Turnpike  Crossin'. 
The  water  was  higher  'n  I  'd  ca'c'lated  on,  an',  to  git  to  the  flats, 
I  'd  haf  to  cross  the  crick  somehow.  The  water  was  clean  over 
the  road,  an'  Dan  did  n't  like  to  wade ;  but  I  put  the  whip  on  to 
him,  an'  we  got  to  the  bridge.  The  deestrict  's  built  a  famous  good 
high  bridge  over  the  crosnin' ;  an'  there  I  stopped  to  let  Dan 
breathe,  an'  to  look  round.  It  was  jest  beginnin'  to  be  daylight, 
an1  I  could  see  off  to'rds  the  flats  ;  but  I  could  n't  make  out  not. hin' , 


MR.  RUKKLY'S  GREAT  SERMON.  331 


an'  it  looked  so  awful  dreary  down  there,  't  I  felt  sick,  an' 
thought  't  was  no  use,  arter  all,  huntin'  in  sich  a  place  for  Cha'- 
lottc.  But  suthin  said,  '  Don't  give  up  so,'  an'  I  splashed  for- 
'ard,  on  t'  other  side  o'  the  bridge ;  when,  as  I  was  cheerin'  ol' 
Dan,  I  thought  I  heerd  a  noise,  an'  stopped.  '  Hello  ! '  says  I. 
'  Ma-a-a-a  ! '  says  suthin,  over  a  knoll,  jest  above  me.  'Nothin' 
but  a  sheep,'  says  I ;  '  but  I  'm  blamed,'  says  I, '  if  it  did  n't  sound, 
for  all  the  world,  like  one  o'  my  lambs  ! '  Then  I  looked  sharp, 
an'  see  suthin  lodged  agin  the  knoll.  Wai,  sir,  't  was  that  shed-ruf, 
an'  Cha'lotte  was  on  to  it,  holdiu'  tight  to  some  bushes  to  keep  from 
floatin'  away  !  I  never  had  anything  come  over  me  like  that 
'ere  !  But  the  danger  wan't  over  with  yit ;  for,  if  Cha'iotte  was 
to  le'  go  her  hold  o'  the  bushes,  there  was  nothin'  to  hender  her 
gittin'  into  the  main  current  that  run  'neath  the  bridge.  'T  waa 
one  o'  the  maddest  currents  I  ever  see  ;  an'  't  would  ben  a  mere 
chance  if  the  ruf  wan't  tore  to  pieces,  passin'  the  'butments. 
'  Stick  to  it,  Cha'lotte  ! '  says  I ;  '  it 's  me  ! '  says  I.  '  Don't  be 
afraid  ! '  says  I.  Dan  did  n't  like  to  leave  the  turnpike,  but  he  'd 
ben  in  the  water  up  to  his  breast  a  dozen  times  a'ready.  I  thought 
he  need  n't  mind  goin'  a  little  deeper ;  so  I  put  on  the  whip,  an' 
swum  him  to  the  knoll.  I  got  hold  o'  the  raft  jes  as  Cha'lotte 
gin  out ;  she  was  nigh-about  dead  when  I  lifted  her  ashore.  But, 
sir,  don't  ye  think,  all  this  time  she  had  kep'  two  o'  them  'ere 
lambs  from  drowndin' !  She  'd  helped  'em  out  o'  the  water, 
on  to  the  ruf,  when  the  shed  fell,  —  for  they  could  n't  got  on  to  it 
alone,  with  all  their  swimmin',  —  and  then  she'd  took  as  much 
care  on  'em,  arterwanls,  as  if  there  wan't  no  danger  to  her,  an' 
all  she  had  to  do  was  to  look  out  for  them  !  I  got  'em  on  to 
the  knoll,  an'  then  lifted  her  on  to  ol'  Dan.  Then  the  thing 
on  't  was  to  git  back  with  her  to  the  turnpike.  But  I  was  perty 
sartin  the  hoss  could  touch  bottom,  an'  keep  his  nose  out  o' 
water,  if  we  both  rode;  't  want  fur,  any  way  ;  so  I  mounted  behind 
Cha'lotte,  an' drove  in.  He  is  a  dre'ful  kind  hoss,  ol'  Dan  is,  an' 
he  seemed  to  know  jes  's  well  what  he  was  about  as  I  did ;  for 
he  made  a  bee-line  to  the  turnpike,  and  went  as  stiddy  as  a 
Bteamboat ! 

"  Wai ,  we  got  to  the  bridge ;   then  I  did  n't .  know  no  more 


332  MR.  RUKELY'S  GREAT  SERMON. 


what  to  do  'n  I  did  in  the  fust  place.  I  could  n't  take  Cha'lotte 
to  my  house,  nor  to  Mr.  Dunbury's,  for  the  kidnabbers  are  as 
thick  over  there  as  nine  cats  in  a  corn-basket.  When  I  was  con- 
siderin'  on  't,  I  happened  to  say,  '  We  an't  sich  a  terrible  ways 
from  where  Mrs.  Rukely  lives ;  she  that  was  Bertha  Wing.  It 's 
in  the  north  village,'  says  I,  '  right  down  opposite  the  flats.'  All 
this  time  I  hardly  knowed  whuther  she  was  alive  or  dead  ;  she  'd 
only  said,  two  or  three  times,  '  0,  Mr.  Jackwood  ! '  an'  laid  on 
this  'ere  arm,  jes'  like  a  child ;  but  when  I  said  '  Bertha  WingJ  it 
seemed  to  put  new  life  into  her — " 

"  Mr.Rukely,"  whispered  Bertha,  at  the  bed-room  door,  "  will 
you  hand  me  that  blanket  ?  "  The  minister  took  a  garment  that 
was  heating  by  the  stove,  and  passed  it  to  his  wife. 

"  Wai,"  said  Mr.  Jackwood,  "  that 's  the  long  and  short  on  't ; 
and  now  that  she  's  safe  in  your  house,  I  feel  like  a  new  man. 
She 's  ben  through  a  dre'ful  tough  night,  an'  she  may  have  a 
fit  o'  sickness  arter  it.  If  we  can  keep  the  kidnabbers  away  till 
she  's  well  enough  to  be  got  off  to  Canada,  that 's  all  I  ask  for. 
What  do  ye  think  ?  " 

"  I  think  —  I  am  in  a  dream  !  "  exclaimed  Mr.  Rukely.  "  Char- 
lotte Woods  !  What  a  history  you  tell  me !  Do  you  think 
she  '11  be  safe  in  my  house  ?  " 

"  I  've  an  idee ' "  said  Mr.  Jackwood,  drying  his  trousers 
by  the  fire.  "  It  popped  into  my  head  as  I  was  comin'  over 
here  from  the  turnpike.  The  kidnabbers  '11  think  she  's 
drownded  !  Don't  ye  see  ? "  And  the  farmer  proceeded  to 
relate  his  experience  with  Dickson,  whom  he  had  left  holding 
the  lantern  at  the  stack.  The  inference  was,  that  if  Charlotte 
was  supposed  to  be  drowned,  the  kidnappers  would  abandon  the 
search. 

"  But  if  the  story  should  get  out,"  suggested  Mr.  Rukely,  in 
his  bewilderment. 

"  Jest  make  sure  o'  'Tildy  Fosdick,  and  I  don't  see  how  it 
anyways  can  ! "  said  Mr.  Jackwood.  "  For  my  part,  I  shan't 
let  on  to  my  own  family  't  Cha'lotte 's  found.  Then  where 's 
the  danger  ?  You  han't  no  scruples  agin  keepin'  her,  of 
course  !  " 


MR.  RUKELY'S  GREAT  SERMON.  333 


"  No  scruples,  —  that  is,  the  laws  of  the  country —  ' 

Mr.  Jackwood  smote  the  palm  of  his  hand  with  his  fist  wit'j 
an  energy  that  made  the  other  start.  "I  —  I  tell  ye  what ! ' 
cried  he,  in  a  determined  tone.  "  I  respect  the  laws,  an'  I  doii't 
thiuk  I  'm  a  bad  citizen,  gen'ly  speakiu' !  I  don't  go  in  for  mobs 
an'  linchin',  nuther  !  But,  come  case  in  hand,  a  human  critter  3 
o'  more  account  to  me  than  all  the  laws  in  Christendom  !  '  As  ye 
do  it  unto  one  of  the  least  of  these  my  brethren,  ye  do  it  unto 
me  ; '  that 's  my  doctrine.  Christ  never  stopped  to  ask  whuther 
't  was  lawful  to  do  a  good  deed,  but  went  and  done  it !  But, 
excuse  me,  —  you  're  a  minister,  an'  you  know  better  about  them 
things  'n  I  do." 

Mr.  Rukely  grasped  the  farmer's  hand.  His  eyes  glistened, 
and  there  was  a  noble  emotion  in  his  face.  "  You  can  depend 
upon  me,"  said  he,  fervently. 

"  God  bless  you  sir  !  I  knowed  it !  "  cried  Mr.  Jackwood,  the 
tears  coursing  down  his  weather-stained  cheek.  "  When  there  's  a 
duty  to  be  done  to  a  feller-mortal,  you  an't  the  man  to  stop  au' 
look  arter  the  consequences." 

"  Not  in  such  a  case,"  said  Mr.  Rukely.  "  I  find  "  —  wringing 
the  farmer's  hand  again  —  "  that  there  's  a  difference  between 
reasoning  from  the  intellect  and  acting  from  the  heart." 

"  You  must  have  found  out  that  long  ago,  sence  you  've  begun 
arly  to  preach  from  the  heart.  I  heerd  one  o'  yer  sarmons  once ; 
't  was  on  the  uses  o'  the  Sabbath ;  an'  one  thing  you  said  in  it  has 
stuck  by  me  to  this  day.  You  said,  '  Christ  is  a  law  unto  himself, 
and  he  who  has  his  spirit  within  him,'  you  said,  '  can  do  no 
wrong.'  That  spirit  is  love,  an't  it  ? "  cried  Mr.  Jackwocd ; 
"  't  an't  policy  ;  and  it  han't  nothin'  to  do  with  compromises." 

"  True  !  "  said  Mr.  Rukely.  "  It  is  love,  and  with  it  goes 
faith ;  and  with  faith,  earnestness  and  courage,  such  as  yours  !  " 

Mr.  Jackwood  brushed  away  his  tears,  and  held  the  minister's 
hand  in  both  of  his.  "  I  han't  no  more  to  say  ;  but,  if  I  don't 
come  down  an'  hqar  you  preach  to-day,  't  '11  be  because  I  can't  git 
over  !  I  must  be  goin'  now  ;  my  folks  '11  be  consarned  about  me. 
an'  I  ought  to  git  away  f'm  here  Tore  people  are  stirriu'.  I  ou'v 
Want  to  say  a  checrin'  word  to  her,  then  T  'in  off ! " 


334  MR.  RUKELY'S  GREAT  SERMON. 


Bertha  had  packed  her  friend  away  in  the  warmest  kind  of 
a  nest ;  and  there  the  farmer  found  her,  unable  to  move 
hand  or  foot,  for  the  comforters  that  enveloped  her,  but  not 
unable  to  smile  a  faint  smile  of  affection  and  thanks  upon  her 
preserver.  "  Mr.  Rukely  's  all  right !  "  he  whispered,  bending 
over  her.  "  So  don't  worry  ;  you  're  safe  !  " 

Charlotte  murmured  something ;  the  fanner  did  not  hear  the> 
words,  but  he  felt  the  thought,  for  it  shone  gratefully  in  his  coun- 
tenance; and,  turning  away  quickly,  to  prevent  a  tear  from  fulling 
upon  her  face,  he  called  Bertha  and  her  husband. 

"  The  best  good-by  I  can  say  is  to  leave  her  in  your  charge. 
I  '11  hear  from  ye  all,  some  time  !  "  The  farmer's  voice  was 
stifled.  "  Wai,"  —  with  an  effort,  —  "  remember  I  'm  comin'  over 
to  hear  you  preach  to-day  !  "  He  mounted  his  horse  at  the  door, 
and  rode  away  ia  the  storm.  Then  Mr.  Rukely  thought  of  hia 
great  sermon  lying  upon  the  table,  and  of  Charlotte  lying  there 
in  the  bed-chamber  :  the  one,  a  creature  of  his  brain,  a  tissue  of 
ingenious  theories  and  precepts ;  the  other,  a  living  reality,  a  child 
of  the  One  loving  Father;  a  being  of  vital  breath,  affections,  aspi- 
rations, and  an  immortal  soul. 

"  Will  you  see  if  that  brandy  is  hot  ?  "  asked  Bertha,  from  the 
bed-chamber.  Tho  brandy  was  not  hot ;  and  Mr.  Rukely,  glancing 
furtively  towards  the  chamber,  took  his  great  sermon  quietly  from 
the  table,  and  thrust  it  into  the  stove.  "  What  are  you  doing  ?  " 
cried  his  wife. 

"  I  am  heating  the  brandy,"  my  dear. 

"  That  was  your  sermon  !  "  exclaimed  the  astonished  Bertha. 

"  My  sermon  ?  "  repeated  the  minister.  "  Well,  I  hope  it  will 
do  good  !  I  shall  preach  an  old  one,  to-day ;  that  one  on  tho 
uses  of  the  Sabbath,  which  you  must  remember,  since  Mr.  Jack- 
wood  recalls  it  to  my  mind,  and  quotes  from  it.  I  shall  preach 
my  sermon  for  the  new  year  next  Sunday." 

Mr.  Rukely  was  ordinarily  a  man  of  such  cool  temper  and 
cahn  judgment,  that  Bertha,  who  had  never  known  him  do  so 
impulsive  a  thing  in  all  his  life,  thought  him  insane. 

"  As  soon  as  you  have  leisure,"  said  he,  "  I  will  give  you 
reasons  for  what  I  have  done.  They  will  surprise  you  mo^e  than 
the  action  itself." 


MR.  RUKELY'S  GREAT  SERMON.  335 


Bertha  administered  the  hot  brandy,  and  rubbed  Charlotte's 
limbs  until  she  gut  them  warm ;  when  the  patient  appearing  to 
sink  into  a  slumber,  she  left  her,  to  hear  her  husband's  story. 
Ah  !  if  there  was  a  difference  between  writing  a  sermon  from  the 
head  and  living  one  from  the  heart,  so  was  there  between  hearing 
one  with  the  ear  only,  and  feeling  one  in  the  soul !  Bertha  was 
awake  now ;  Bertha  no  longer  gave  a  cold  and  drowsy  approval 
of  what  she  heard  ;  Bertha,  whose  thoughtless  tongue,  like  many 
another  thoughtless  tongue,  had  said  yea  and  amen  to  plausible 
theories  a  half-hour  since,  astonished  her  husband  now  by  the 
energy  and  passion  with  which  she  espoused  Charlotte's  cause. 

"  I  did  well,  then,"  said  he,  "  to  burn  the  sermon  !  " 

"  I  only  know,"  replied  the  excited  Bertha,  "  that  a  thousand 
sermons  could  not  change  me  with  regard  to  Charlotte  !  What 
shall  we  do  with  Matilda  ?  " 

Matilda  could  not  be  kept  in  ignorance,  if  she  remained  in  the 
house ;  neither  could  her  services  be  well  dispensed  with  at  that 
time.  It  was  accordingly  agreed  that  the  safest  way  would  be  to 
confide  the  secret  to  her,  and  rely  upon  her  fidelity.  She  was 
called  from  the  chamber ;  and  Mr.  Rukely  sat  by  Charlotte  while 
Bertha,  in  the  other  room,  awaited  the  girl's  appearance. 

Miss  Fosdick  came  down  with  her  hair  uncombed,  and  her 
dress  unhooked,  looking  ill-humored  and  sleepy.  "  'T  an't  late, 
after  all,"  she  said,  looking  at  the  clock.  "  It's  Sunday  morning, 
I  thought  I  could  lay  abed." 

"  I  had  some  news  to  tell  you,"  replied  Bertha. 

"  O,  have  you  ?     What  is  it  about  ?  " 

"  You  know  Miss  Woods,  at  Mr.  Dunbury's  ?  "  . 

"  0,  I  know  of  her  ;  though  I  'm  not  personally  acquainted," 
replied  Matilda,  simpering.  "  People  say  Hector  is  paying 
attention  to  her.  I  don't  care,  I  'm  sure  ;  though  I  might  have 
been  in  her  place,' I  suppose.  You  didn't  know,  perhaps,  that 
Hector  came  for  me,  the  very  day  he  found  Miss  Woods  at  your 
house  ?  I  'd  been  two  terms  to  Kiltney ;  and  Mrs.  Dunbury 
wanted  me  for  a  companion.  I  should  have  gone,  only  you 
know  I  an't  obleeged  to  go  out  for  a  living ;  and  while  we  was 
talking  it  over,  Livia  and  Patra  made  such  a  fuss,  all  through 


336  MR.  RUKELY'S  GREAT  SERMON. 


jealousy,  that  I  concluded  to  stay  to  home.  Well,  Miss  Wooda 
went  in  my  place ;  but  I  don't  care  —  she  is  welcome ;  though, 
if  I  had  taken  up  with  the  invitation,  who  knows  what  might 
have  happened  ?  'T  an't  as  though  J  was  in  such  a  great  hurry 
to  get  a  husband  !  But  what  about  her  ?  Are  they  going  to  be 
married  ?  " 

"  Matilda,  it  is  very  sad  news  I  have  to  tell  you  !  " 

Matilda,  brightening  :   "  Is  it  ?     I  am  dying  to  hear  !  " 

Here.  Bertha,  deeply  affected,  told  the  story  of  Charlotte,  yet 
concealing  the  fact  that  she  was  at  that  moment  sleeping  in  the 
adjoining  chamber.  Matilda  could  not  sufficiently  express  her 
wonder  and  astonishment. 

"  And  what  would  you  do,"  asked  Bertha,  "  if  she  should  come 
to  you,  and  you  could  help  her  escape  ?  " 

It  is  not  to  be  denied  that  Matilda  felt  a  secret  delight  in 
Charlotte's  misfortune.  But,  aside  from  the  natural  envy  and 
selfishness  of  her  disposition,  she  was  not  a  bad-hearted  girl ; 
and  she  gave  the  answer  Bertha  desired  she  would.  It  was  as 
much  pride,  perhaps,  as  genuine  benevolence,  that  would  have 
been  gratified  in  rendering  assistance  to  one  in  Charlotte's  posi- 
tion ;  but  Bertha  did  not  stop  to  analyze  her  motives.  She 
beliered  her  sincere ;  it  was  all  she  asked ;  and  then  proceeded  to 
unfold  the  remainder  of  the  story. 

Charlotte,  meanwhile,  passed  from  the  sleep  or  stupor  that 
had  taken  possession  of  her  senses  into  the  pain  and  delirium 
of  fever.  Alarmed  by  her  restlessness  and  moaning,  Mr. 
Rukely  rapped  on  the  door  for  Bertha  She  entered  ;  Charlotte 
appeared  to  awake,  and  she  spoke  to  her;  but  the  poor  girl, 
not  recognizing  her,  called  for  Hector  to  give  her  a  glass  ol 
water. 

"  Here,  deaf  Charlotte  !  "  said  Bertha,  raising  her  head,  that 
she  might  drink. 

"  No  !  "  The  sufferer  put  her  feebly  away.  "  Hector  !  where 
is  he  ?  "  She  looked  wildly  about  the  room.  Bertha  endeavored 
to  pacify  her ;  but  she  no  longer  knew  her  friends. 

"  I  dreamed,"  said  she,  "  that  somebody  was  drowned  in  that 
horrid  place  !  Tell  me,  was  it  Hector  ?  " 


XXXIX. 

HOW   DICKSON   TOOK  LEAVE. 

ON  his  way  home,  Mr.  Jackwood  met  Corny  riding  out  of  Mr. 
Dunbury's  yard.  "  You  're  stirrin'  arly,  young  man,"  said  tha 
farmer. 

"  Ya-a-s,"  drawled  Corny ;  "  I  got  to  go  for  the  doctor." 

"  Is  Mis'  Dunbury  wus  agin  ?  " 

"  'Pears  so  ;  they  thought  she  was  dyin'  one  spell.  They  an't 
nobody  to  hum,  now,  but  Bridget  an'  the  ol'  man.  Hector's 
gone;  an'  I  s'pose  ye  heard  about  Charlotte." 

"  If  you  're  goin'  for  the  doctor,"  said  the  farmer,  "  I  won't 
bender.  I  guess  I  '11  step  in  a  minute,  an'  see  if  my  folks  can  be 
of  any  sarvice." 

The  farmer  entered  at  the  kitchen  door,  which  was  opened  by 
Bridget.  "  Faix  !  "  cried  the  girl,  "  I  was  never  so  glad  wid  the 
sight  iv  a  Yankee  face  since  the  day  I  was  barn  !  They  're  havin' 
the  craziest  time  here  that  iver  was !  Not  a  wink  have  I  slept, 
ahl  the  whole  blissid  night,  but  jist  a  little  this  marnin'.  I  was 
woke  fifty  times  'fore  the  peep  o'  day,  if  I  was  iver  a  once.  But 
it 's  not  a  straw  I  'd  be  carin'  for  it  ahl,  if  I  could  only  jist  cure 
my  eyes  wid  seein'  the  daar,  swate  face  of  Miss  Charlotte,  afther 
ahl  the  throuble  an'  fuss.  I  was  hopin'  ye  'd  be  tellin'  ye  'd  seen 
ner.  And  Misther  Edward,  ye  've  seen  nothia'  of  him  ?  He  ss 
the  crazy  man,  that 's  been  kickin'  up  ahl  the  row.  It  begun  wid 
his  coomin'  here  yistherday.  Och !  it  was  a  shabby  thrick  he 
played  me  up  in  the  woods  there,  lavin'  me  to  get  the  IIOM;  around 
afther  the  scoundrels  had  cotched  us.  He  followed  'em  back  doon 
the  river ;  and  there  I  worked,  a'most  ahl  the  night,  tryiii'  to  turn 
the  cutter  in  the  woods,  an'  backin'  the  hoss  out  o'  the  brush  an 
29 


338  HOW  DICKSON  TOOK  LEAVE. 


snow.  Faix,  it  was  beginnin'  to  be  dark  an'  lonesome  up  there ; 
an'  what  should  I  be  afther  doin',  but  lavin'  the  cutter  wheie 
it  stuck,  an'  riJin'  home  man-fashion,  wid  the  harness  for  a 
saddle ! " 

"  Where  is  yer  crazy -man  now  ?  "  inquired  the  farmer. 

"  I  balave  the  divil  has  him  carryin'  him  off !  "  cried  Bridget. 
"  He  was  up  ahl  the  night,  wild  as  a  brindle  cat,  an'  the  last  I  was 
hearin'  on  him,  he  went  out  howlin'  in  the  starm.  But  it 's  little 
I  throuble  mesilf  about  him  ;  only  I  tha'ht  he  might  be  knowin' 
what  had  coom  on  Miss  Charlotte.  If  he  'd  but  jist  be  bringin' 
hjr  back,  then  he  might  go  to  Bedlam,  where  he  belongs,  —  bad 
luck  to  him  !  " 

For  four  mortal  hours  Dickson  had  kept  solitary  watch  upon 
the  stack.  During  this  time  he  saw  the  lantern  burn  dimly,  then 
go  out,  and  broad  day  dawn  upon  the  valley  and  the  flood. 
The  weather  was  growing  cold.  Only  a  Sue  hail  fell,  mixed  with 
sleet.  The  straw  of  the  stack  froze  into  brittle  glass,  and  the 
boards  bound  upon  it  became  slippery  with  ice.  Dickson  would 
have  suffered  from  the  cold  and  discomfort  of  his  situation,  but 
that  his  rage  kept  him  warm.  At  length  he  saw  Mr.  Jackwood 
walk  leisurely  across  the  fields  with  Abimelech,  to  the  water's 
edge,  launch  the  boat,  and  row  out  towards  the  stack. 

"  I  thought  per'aps  you  'd  be  impatient  to  git  ashore,"  remarked 
the  farmer. 

"  Any  time  !  "  muttered  Dickson,  through  his  teeth. 

"  If  he  waited  long  enough,  he  could  cross  on  the  ice,"  cried 
Abimelech.  "  The  water  's  all  scummed  over,  a'ready,  where  it 
don't  run  fast." 

"  Hush,  Bim'lech  !  "  paid  Mr.  Jackwood.  "  Doin'  my  pertiest, 
[  could  u't  save  all  them  dumb  beasts.  I  've  lost  one  o'  the  like- 
liest pair  o'  two-year-olds  ever  raised  in  the  county.  The  lambs 
I  don't  en  re  so  much  about,  though  they  'd  a'  ben  as  han'some 
withers  as  anybody's,  come  spring.  Sorry  to  keep  you  waitin'." 

"  It  's  all  right,"  growled  Dickson.  "  I  shall  have  my  pay  for 
this,  I  reck'n  !  " 

"  Wai,  you  'd  oughter !  "  exclaimed  the  farmer.     "  A  man  't 


HOW    DICKSON    TOOK   LEAVE.  33U 


puts  his  hand  to  your  kind  o'  business  desarves  to  git  his  pay 
Don't  forgit  to  hand  down  that  'ere  lantern.  Theu  we  '11  go  to 
breakfast." 

As  the  wrathful  Dicksori  paid  no  attention  to  the  request,  think- 
ing only  of  getting  his  feet  safely  planted  in  the  boat,  Mr.  Jack- 
wood  quietly  put  out  his  oar,  and  shoved  off  from  the  stack. 

"  We  can't  see  to  git  up  to  the  stack,  till  he  holds  the  lantern," 
chuckled  Bim. 

"Hush,  Bim'lech  !  "  said  his  father.  "Thank  ye,"  —  as  the 
man,  stifling  his  wrath,  handed  down  the  lantern.  "  Ye  han't  seen 
thorn  steers  nowheres,  have  ye  ?  " 

"  I  .'ve  had  someth'n'  else  to  think  of,"  replied  Dickson, 
savagely. 

"  Glad  to  hear  it,"  remarked  the  farmer.  "  It 's  Sunday  morn- 
in\  an'  we  'd  ought  all  on  us  to  be  thinkiu'  o'  suthin  else.  But 
you  had  sich  a  chance  to  look  around,  up  there,  I  thought  you 
might  a'  seen  'em,  if  they  was  in  the  woods,  or  anywheres.  Per- 
'aps  ye  'd  like  to  take  one  o'  these  oars,  to  warm  ye  ?  " 

Dickson  accepted;  without  comment,  and  worked  his  passage. 
After  a  long  silence,  he  inquired,  in  a  sinister  tone,  what  value  the 
farmer  set  upon  his  real  and  personal  estate. 

"  D'  ye  think  o'  buyin'  an'  scttlin'  amongst  us  ? "  asked  Mr 
Jackwood.  "  Took  with  our  manners  an'  customs,  I  s'pose  ?  " 

"  I  only  asked  for  information,"  sneered  Dickson. 

"  Wai,  in  that  case,  —  though  't  is  Sunday,  —  I  han't  no  objec- 
tion to  sayin'  't  the  vally  I  set  on  my  property,  live  stock,  farm- 
in'  utensils,  an'  everything,  is  seven  thousan'  dollars,  cash  on  the 
nail.  I  don't  'spect  to  git  it  right  away,  but  I  won't  part  with  an 
acre  for  less." 

"  And  suppos'n'  you  should  wake  up,  some  fine  mornin',  and 
find  you  had  n't  no  farm,  nor  no  seven  thous'n'  dollars,  neither?  " 

"  Wai,  then  I  should  try  to  git  along  without  'em,  an'  be  thank- 
ful for  what  I  did  have." 

"  I  'd  advise  ye  to  cultivate  that  feel'n',"  said  Dickson,  "  aginst 
the  time  comes  ;  an'  I  prophesy  't  won't  be  slow  com'n'." 

41  That 's  perty  talk  from  a  man  't  I  've  invited  to  breakfast ! ' 
returned  the  farmer.  "  What  d'  ye  mean  ?  " 


840  now  DICKSON  TOOK  LEAVE. 


"  I  mean  that  your  farm  an't  any  too  big  to  cover  this  little 
business  o'  yourn,  —  yc  understand  ?  " 

"  What  business  ?  " 

"  Harborin'  that  gal,  —  if  ye  relish  bein'  told  in  so  many  words. 
The  wuth  of  a  fine,  han'some  piece  o'  property,  like  her,  an't  lesd 
than  fifteen  hundred,  in  the  first  place.  She  's  to  be  paid  for,  to 
begin  with.  Then,  say  nothin'  'bout  imprisonment,  there  's  fines. 
I  s'pose  ye  know,  that  '11  whittle  what 's  left  o'  yer  farm  down  to 
a  mighty  small  figur' ;  and  if  ye  stand  out  about  it,  the  law  '11 
swaller  up  what 's  left.  I  hope  that 's  a  consolash'u  for  thu  loss 
o'  yer  steers." 

"  It 's  Sunday,"  said  Mr.  Jackwood,  in  a  low,  quiet  tone,  after 
a  thoughtful  pause,  "  an'  we  won't  talk  over  business,  I  guess, 
'fore  to-morrer.  But  I  '11  tell  ye  one  thing,  —  though  I  set  as 
much  by  my  farm  as  any  man,  1  would  n't  mind  losin'  it  in  a 
good  cause,  if  I  could  be  o'  sarvice  to  a  feller-critter  by  so  doin', 
an'  save  'em  from  pirates  an'  man-stealers,  like  you.  That  don't 
make  out,  though,  't  I  had  any  hand  in  the  business  you  lay  to 
my  charge,  as  I  see.  If  that  'ere  poor  young  woman  is 
drownded,  't  an't  on  my  conscience ;  an'  I  defyye  to  prove  the 
fust  thing !  " 

"  That  '11  be  an  easy  matter,"  replied  D'ckson.  "  I  'm  used  to 
these  cases." 

"  Wai,  I  an't,  an'  I  'm  glad  on  't !  "  said  Mr.  Jackwood.  "  But 
le's  drop  the  subject  for  to-day.  We  '11  go  to  breakfast ;  then, 
if  you  like,  you  can  ride  to  mcetin'  with  me.  I  'm  goin'  over  to 
the  North  Village  ;  they  've  got  a  famous  good  minister  there,  an' 
I  think  't  would  n't  do  you  no  harm  to  hear  him  preach." 

Arrived  at  the  house,  Dickson  entered,  and  warmed  himself 
and  dried  his  clothes  by  the  kitchen  fire.  His  friend  Jones,  whom 
he  had  expected  to  call  for  him  early  that  morning,  had  not  yet 
made  his  appearance ;  and  he  was  but  too  happy  to  avail  himself 
of  the  farmer's  hospitality. 

"  I  s'pose,"  said  he,  "  you  won't  object  to  lend'n'  me  a  boss  for 
a  couple  of  hours  ?  " 

"I. '11  give  ye  yer  breakfast,  and  yer  last  night's  lodgin',  too, 
for  that  matter,  but  you  '11  haf  to  excuse  me  if  I  don't  lend  the 


IIOW    DICKSON   TOOK   LEAVE.  341 


boss,"  replied  Mr.  Jackwood.     "  I  think  too  much   o'  both  rny 
ponies  for  that." 

"  D'  ye  fancy  't  would  n't  be  safe  ?  "  cried  Dickson.  "  I  reck'n 
I  'm  good  for  more  'n  one  hoss." 

"  Per'aps ;  but  I  should  want  suthin  'sides  either  yer  business 
or  your  face  to  recommend  ye,  if  I  was  goin'  to  trust  you  very 
fur.  Shall  we  read  'fore  breakfast,  mother  ?  " 

Mrs.  Jackwood  said  she  thought  it  would  be  as  well,  as  the 
potatoes  were  not  quite  done.  The  farmer  accordingly  took 
down  the  big  Bible  from  the  shelf,  and  called  the  children  to  join 
in  the  reading. 

"  I  can't  read  this  morning,"  articulated  Phoebe,  whose  eyes 
were  red  and  swollen. 

"  Very  well ;  we  '11  excuse  ye,"  replied  her  father.  "  But 
don't  cry  any  more,  child  ;  't  won't  do  no  good.  You  may  begin, 
Bim'lech.  If  you  'd  like  to  look  over,"  —  to  Mr.  Dickson,  — 
"  I  'd  like  to  have  ye.  Give  him  your  Testament,  Bim'lech." 

Dickson  declined  the  offer.  But  he  could  not  easily  avoid 
hearing  a  chapter  of  the  glorious  Evangel  of  St.  John,  and  the 
simple,  earnest  prayer  that  followed. 

The  farmer's  voice  was  tremulous  with  emotion,  and  when  he 
prayed  that  God  would  soften  the  hearts  of  oppressors,  and  pour 
out  his  tender  mercies  upon  all  who  were  oppressed,  Phoebe 
sobbed  aloud ;  and  Dickson  could  see  the  tears  run  silently  down 
Mrs.  Jackwood's  face,  as  she  knelt  beside  her  chair.  His  heart 
must  have  been  of  flint,  not  to  be  touched  by  the  scene.  He 
glanced  darkly  towards  the  door,  as  if  anxious  to  get  away ;  but, 
with  knotted  and  flushed  features,  writhing  in  his  chair,  he  sat 
and  heard  the  prayer  to  its  close.  The  ordeal  passed,  he  readily 
accepted  an  invitation  to  breakfast. 

"  There  's  somebody  come,"  said  Bim,  who  had  gone  to  the 
door  to  give  Rover  a  piece  of  pork  he  had  abstracted  from  the 
platter  when  his  mother's  back  was  turned. 

The  comer  proved  to  be  Jones.  Dickson  went  out  to  meet  him 
and  they  talked  some  time  under  the  stoop. 

"  Bim'lech,"  said  the  farmer,  "  tell  'em  to  put  their  hosses  under 
the  shed,  an'  come  in  an'  have  some  breakfast."  • 

'29* 


342  HOW   DICKSON    TOOK   LEAVE. 


"  I  would  n't !  "  exclaimed  Bim,  vindictively. 

"  Mind  !  "  said  his  father,  putting  down  his  foot. 

The  boy,  accordingly,  although  with  a  bad  grace,  delivered  the 
message ;  and,  after  some  hesitation,  the  men  came  in.  Mrs.  Jack- 
wood  put  on  an  additional  plate,  flanked  with  a  knife  and  fork ; 
and  they  sat  down  and  ate  meat  with  Christians.  When  they  had 
made  a  hasty  meal,  they  arose  to  go ;  Dickson  offering  to  pay  the 
farmer.  But  Mr.  Jackwood  declined  his  money. 

"  Don't  you  never  take  pay,  when  strangers  put  up  with  ye  ?  " 
asked  Dickson. 

"  That 's  neither  here  nor  there,"  replied  the  farmer.  "  What 
ye  have  o'  me,  I  give  ye.  I  neither  lend  nor  sell  to  sich  as  you. 
I  've  told  ye  the  reason  why  I  won't  lend ;  if  ye  want  to  know 
why  I  won't  sell,  it 's  'cause  your  money  's  arnt  in  a  bad  trade, 
an'  I  'd  ruther  have  nothin'  to  do  with  't." 

"  Say,  father !  "  cried  Abimelech,  after  the  men  were  gone, 
"  they  can't  git  yer  farm  away  from  ye,  can  they  ?  " 

"  You  may  b<5  sartin,"  said  the  farmer,  "  they  will  if  they  can. 
The  law  's  on  their  side,  too,  I  s'pose.  But  I  an't  goin'  to  trouble 
myself  'forehand.  I  've  done  my  best,  'cordin'  as  I  see  the  duty 
sot  afore  me  to  do  ;  an',  with  a  clean  conscience,  I  '11  wait  an'  sec 
what  comes  of  it  all." 

"  I  would  n't  let  'em  have  it !  "  exclaimed  Bim ;  "  I  'd  sue  'em." 

"  Bim'lech,"  returned  his  father,  "  I  never  sued  a  man  in  my 
life,  an'  I  never  was  sued.  But  we  won't  talk  about  that  now. 
I  'm  goin'  to  take  your  mother  over  to  Mist'  Dunbury's,  an'  goin' 
from  there  to  meetin' ;  an'  you  can  go  with  me,  or  stay  to  hum 
with  Phoebe."  And  he  proceeded  to  lather  his  face,  and  to  pre- 
pare for  Mr.  Rukely's  great  sermon.  There  were  no  "  chores  " 
to  attend  to  ;  those  that  Abimelech  had  left  undone  having  been 
despatched  by  the  farmer  after  'his  return  home,  while  Dickson 
Btill  kept  watch  at  the  stack. 


XI, 

MR   CRUMLETT'S  SPECULATIONS. 

MJSS  MATILDA  FOEUICK  was  not  so  indifferent  to  the  chances  of 
obtaining  a  husband,  but  she  entertained  a  degree  of  matrimonial 
hope  from  the  honorable  intentions  of  Mr.  Eno.s  Crumlelt.  Enoa 
had  a  consumptive  mother,  whom  he  "  did  n't  ca'c'late  would  bo 
with  him  much  longer,"  and  whom  he  was  anxious  to  replace  with 
a  good  wife.  "  I  can't  think  o'  lettin'  my  farm,"  he  reasoned, 
"an'  I  s'pose  't  '11  be  enough  on  't  cheaper  'n  the  end  to  git  mar- 
ried, than  to  hire  a  housekeeper,  or  board."  He  had  these  con- 
siderations in  mind  when  he  asked  Miss  Fosdick  for  her  com- 
pany ;  and  perhaps  Miss  Fosdick  also  had  something  of  the  sort 
in  view  when  she  accepted  his  advances.  He  wanted  a  house- 
keeper ;  she  wanted  a  house  to  keep. 

It  was  through  Mr.  Crumlett's  influence  that  Matilda  had  con- 
sented to  step  out  of  her  "  sphere  "  into  the  domestic  service  of 
Mrs.  Bertha  Rukely.  Mr.  Crumlett  reasoned  thus  :  "  Tildy  I 
guess  '11  make  a  perty  smart  kind  o'  gal,  keep  her  away  from 
'Livia  and  Tatra.  Besides,  I  don't  care  about  marryin'  more  'n 
one  o'  Sam  Fosdick's  darters  't  a  time ;  an'  the  sooner  she  breaks 
with  the  rest  on  'em,  the  better.  Then,  agin,  she  may  as  well  be 
arnin'  a  little  suthin  for  herself,  agin  spring,  for  't  an't  prob'ble 
ma  '11  hold  out  much  longer  'n  that,  if  she  does  so  long."  So 
Matilda  never  visited  her  family  now,  and  had  as  little  intercourse 
with  Olivia  and  Cleopatra  as  possible  ;  a  circumstance  whicl , 
in  Bertha's  mind,"  very  much  favored  the  project  of  keeping  Char- 
»otte's  presence  in  the  house  a  secret.  But  this  advantage  found 
an  offset,  perhaps,  in  the  fact  of  Mr.  Crumlett's  visits.  He  was 
accustomed  to  prosecute  his  courting  in  Mr.  llukely's  kitchen  ; 
and  Sunday  evening  was  his  regular  night. 


344  ME.  CRUMLETT'S  SPECULATIONS. 


"  Wai,"  said  Enos,  pulling  off  his  great-coat,  and  handing  it  tc 
Matilda,  "  how  d'e  deu  these  times  ?  What 's  the  news  ?  " 

Matilda,  hanging  the  coat  upon  a  nail :  "  I  don't  hear  much  of 
anything  ;  do  you  ?  " 

Enos  sat  down,  and  stretched  out  his  legs  by  the  stove. 
"  They  ben  havin'  a  tearin'  time  up  the  crick,  —  I  s'pose  you 
heerd  ?  " 

"  About  Charlotte  Woods  ?  " 

"  Yis  ;  queer,  an't  it  ?  " 

"  I  wan't  much  surprised,"  said  Matilda,  carelessly. 

"Wai,  I  was!'  exclaimed  Mr.  Crumlett.  "I  knowed  Ler 
like  a  book  !  She  wan't  half  so  black  as  some  white  folks  't  I 
know  ;  she  was  jest  dark  enough  to  be  ra'al  perty." 

"  You  fancy  dark  complexions,  I  see  !  "  observed  Matilda,  with 
a  toss  of  her  head.  "  I  aduiire  your  taste  !  " 

"  Of  course  I' do,"  —  Enos  gruinod,  -••-  "  and  that 's  what  makes 
me  like  you." 

Matilda,  scornfully  :  "  You  don't  call  me  dark,  I  hope  ?  " 

"  I  don't  call  you  uothin'  else  !  " 

"  Well,  if  you  han't  got  eyes  !  It 's  the  first  time  I  was  ever 
called  dark." 

"  You  're  darker  'n  Charlotte  Woods,  —  now,  come  !  "  cried  Enos, 
hitching  towards  Miss  Fosdick's  chair. 

"I?"  exclaimed  Matilda.  "Maybe  I  be,"  —  with  sarcasm, 
"you  're  welcome  to  think  so,  any  way  !  As  if  I  cared  !  " 

"I  don't  mean," — Mr.  Crumlett  saw  fit  to  qualify  his  asser- 
tion, —  "  that  is,  I  did  n't  say  't  your  skin  is  like  hern  —  " 

"  Which  you  admired  so  much  !  "  sneered  Matilda. 

"You  an't  exactly  dark,  but  —  wal,  I  can't  express  it;  only 
you  are  red,  —  no,  not  red,  but  kind  o'  red  and  brown,"  said  Mr, 
Crumlett. 

Matilda  puckered  her  lips  info  a  smirk,  accompanied  by  pecu- 
liar undulations  of  the  head,  indicative  of  contempt,  and,  taking 
up  a  book,  pretended  to  read.  Mr.  Crumlett  hitched  his  chair 
Biill  nearer,  and  looked  over  the  corner  of  the  book,  with  a  good- 
ratured  grin.  "  I  wish  you  'd  go  away  !  "  exclaimed  Matilda. 

"There!"    said    Mr.  Crumlett;    "that's   all    I   wanted!     If 


MR.  CRUMLETT'S  SPECULATIONS. 


you  've  got  sich  a  temper  't  we  can't  gjt  along  together  Tore  we  'ra 
married,  what  'u'd  we  do  afterwards?  We  may  as  well  break  off 
now  as  any  time."  And  Enos  snatched  his  coat  from  the  nail. 

"  You  're  as  much  mistaken  as  you  can  be,  if  you  think  I  was 
mad  !  "  remarked  Matilda.  "  But,  if  you  want  to  go,  I  'm  sure  I 
fchan't  hendcr  you."  And  she  kindly  offered,  as  usual,  to  help 
Enos  "  on  "  with  his  great-coat. 

"  Thank  ye,"  said  Enos  ;  "  much  obleeged."  He  began  to  but- 
ton himself  up  very  fast,  and  put  on  his  mittens.  "  I  'in  glad 
you  Vo  so  williu'  to  have  me  go.  Where  's  my  cap  ?  " 

"  01' course  I  'in  willing,  if  you  've  got  sick  of  me,  and  want  to 
break  off  the  engagement !  " 

"  Who  said  I  was  sick,  and  wanted  to  break  off?  " 

"  You  would  n't  quit  so,  if  you  wan't !  "  said  Matilda,  beginning 
to  cry.  "  It 's  you  that 's  got  temper,  I  should  think  !  " 

"  I  ?  I  han't  got  the  least  grain  o'  temper  in  the  world !  Look 
here !  I  guess  we  '11  talk  that  over  !  " 

And  Mr.  Crumlett  pulled  off  a  mitten.  "Set  down,  won't  ye, 
while  you  stay  ?  "  asked  the  weeping  Matilda. 

"  No,  I  won't  set  down."  Mr.  Crumlett  pulled  off  the  other 
mitten,  and  placed  both  in  his  cap.  "  What  do  yo  mean  about 
my  havin'  temper  ?  " 

"  I  meant  if  you  went  off  so,  jest  for  what  I  said —  " 

Mr.  Crumlett  placed  his  hat  on  the  table,  and  sat  down,  still 
buttoned  to  the  throat.  "  We  may  as  well  have  it  understood, 
and  part  friends,  for  what  I  see.  I  'm  sure  I  han't  thought  o' 
breakin'  off;  I  was  goin'  'cause  you  wanted  me  to." 

"  Take  off  your  coat,  won't  ye  ?  " 

"  No,  I  guess  not."  —  Mr.  Crumlett  looked  injured.  '  I  '11  un- 
button it,  though,  while  I  stop." 

"  You  won't  feel  it  when  you  go  out,"  said  Matilda,  with  tearful 
affection.  "  You  'd  better  take  it  off." 

"  YJU  beat  all  the  gals  I  ever  see  !  "  exclaimed  Enos.  "  You 
can  make  a  feller  do  jest  what  you  're  a  mind  to  !  —  Here  it 
goes  !  "  The  coat  was  returned  to  the  nail  in  the  wall,  and  Mr. 
Crumlett  seated  himself,  all  smiles,  by  Matilda's  side. 

'•  T  did  n't  know  you  was  so  well  acquainted  with  her,"  savi 
Matilda. 


346  MR.  CRUMLETT'S  SPECULATIONS. 


"  0,  I  was  n't  much  !     Who  said  I  was  ?  " 

"  You  ;  you  said  you  knew  her  like  a  book." 

"  Did  I  ?  0,  wal,  all  I  meant  was,  that  I  'd  seen  her,  and  cal 
dinner  with  her.  You  know  all  about  that.  'T  was  the  day  hei 
and  Hector  broke  down,  and  I  carried  'cm  home  in  my  wagon.  I 
made  fifty  cents  by  it,  —  that 's  the  most  I  remember.  And  that 
reminds  me  't  I  made  fifty  cents  to-day,  if  'tis  Sunday." 

"  How  ?  "  asked  Matilda. 

"  Mr.  Jackwood  found  a  couple  o'  his  lambs  on  a  knoll  jest 
above  the  turnpike  bridge ;  and  he  told  me,  if  I  'd  git  'em  up  to 
my  house,  and  keep  'em  till  to-morrer,  he'd  gi'  me  half  a  dollar. 
I  han't  got  my  money  yit ;  but  I  shall  make  sure  on  't,  when  he 
takes  the  lambs  away.  I  'd  trust  him  sooner  'n  'most  any  man  I 
know,  any  other  time." 

"  Why  not  now  ?  " 

"  Gracious  !  "  said  Mr.  Crumlett,  "  han't  you  heard,  then  ?  All 
the  talk  is,  't  he  '11  lose  his  farm,  sartin  's  the  world.  The  slave- 
hunters  are  stoppin'  in  Huntersford  a  pu'pose  to  prosecute  him." 

"  That 's  too  bad  !  "  exclaimed  Matilda. 

"  Does  seem  kind  o'  tough.  But,  then,  if  I  owned  a  slave,  and 
should  lose  'em  in  that  kind  o'  way,  I  should  think  't  wan't  no 
more  'n  right  I  should  git  my  pay  for  'em.  But,  arter  all,  I  'd  go 
agin  finin'  a  man  like  Mr.  Jackwood  a  cent  more  'n  the  actual 
damage.  Hang  it  all ! "  exclaimed  Mr.  Crumlett,  "  I  don't 
know  but  I  'd  done  as  much  for  Charlotte  Woods,  myself!  What 
do  ye  look  so  for  ?  " 

"  So  ?     How  ?  "  asked  Matilda,  innocently. 

"  Kind  o'  so,"  replied  Mr.  Crumlett,  with  a  grimace,  "  jest  as 
if  you  knowed  suthin  't  you  would  n't  tell." 

"I?     What  do  you  mean?" 

"  You  '.d  make  a  feller  think  you  'd  heard  suthin  about  Mr. 
Jackwood,  or  Charlotte ;  for  as  often  as  I  've  spoke  of  'cm,  you  've 
done  that"  —  another  grimace. 

Matilda  put  her  handkerchief  to  her  face,  and  chuckled  behind 
it,  much  to  Mr.  Crumlett's  annoyance.  "  Wal,  I  an't  goin'  tc 
tease,"  said  Enos. — "Folks  to  hum  to-night?" 

"  I  'm  to  home,"  answered  Matilda. 


MR.  CRUMLETT'S  SPECULATIONS.  347 


"  There  't  is  agin  !  —  Is  anybody  else  ?  " 

"  You  know  Mr.  liukely  never  is  to  home  Sunday  nights ;  he 
lectures  in  the  vestry." 

'•  Is  Berthy  to  hum,  then  ?  "  demanded  Enos,  impatiently. 

"  What  difference  docs  't  make  to  you  whether  she  's  to  home 
or  not  ?  "  retorted  Matilda,  with  the  same  exasperating  look. 

Thereupon  Mr.  Crumlctt  notwithstanding  his  total  lack  of  tem- 
per, took  offence,  and.  after  some  more  words,  went  so  far  as  to 
put  on  his  great  coat  and  mittens  again,  and  button  himself  to  the 
chin.  This  time  he  pulled  his  cap  over  his  ears,  with  a  resolute 
air,  that  frightened  Matilda.  He  utterly  refused  to  stay,  except 
on  one  condition ;  and  seized  hold  of  the  door-latch,  as  if  unwilling 
to  wait  even  fur  that.  "Jest  as  you  please,"  he  mumbled.  "Tell 
me  or  not,  —  I  don't  care  !  " 

It  is  probable  that  Matilda  intended  to  tell  him,  from  the  first; 
for  it  would  have  cost  her  more  forbearance  than  she  ever  exer- 
cised in  her  life  to  keep  so  exciting  a  secret.  His  threat  of  leav- 
ing her  was  enough  to  quiet  her  conscience ;  and,  prevailing  upon 
Enos  to  sit  down,  she  yielded,  after  a  brief  struggle,  and  with  an 
air  of  profound  mystery  imparted  the  story  of  Charlotte's  safety. 
"  "But  she  's  real  sick  !  "  continued  Matilda.  "  She  don't  know 
anything,  but  talks  such  unheard-of  things !  Berthy  is  with  hoi 
every  minute  o'  the  time ;  and  they  've  had  the  doctor  to  her  twice 
to-day.  Don't  you  whisper  it,  for  the  world !  I  don't  want  ever 
Berthy  should  know  I  told  ye,  for  I  promised  I  would  n't !  " 

'•  In  this  very  house  !  "  ejaculated  Enos,  crossing  his  legs,  first 
one  way,  then  the  other,  then  getting  up.  then  sitting  down  again, 
then  embracing  his  knees  with  his  arms,  as  if  to  hold  himself 
together.  "  Beats  everything  !  What  'u'd  tjiem  Southc'ners  give  ? 
Jingoes!  'Tilda!  it's  the  greatest  thing  I  ever  heard,  in  all  my 
born  days !  " 

"  Hark  !  "  whispered  Matilda.     "  Berthy  's  coming !  " 


Dickson  and  his  companions  fortified  themselves  in  the  village 
tavern,  and  appeared  to  take  a  brute  pride  in  braving  an  outraged 
pall'c.  With  law,  pistols,  and  the  rum-drinking  community,  on 
then  side,  they  apprehended  little  personal  danger,  as  long  there 


348  MK.  CKUMLETT'S  SPECULATIONS. 

was  no  occasion  for  the  active  performance  of  their  Union-saving 
functions.  Whether  they  were  waiting  to  receive  instructions 
with  regard  to  the  prosecution  of  Mr.  Jaokwood,  or  whether  they 
still  entertained  hopes  of  hearing  from  Charlotte,  could  only  be 
surmised.  Perhaps  they  had  both  objects  in  view.  They  were 
also  very  active  in  procuring  information  with  regard  to  colored 
people,  both  in  the  States  and  in  Canada,  evidently  with  the  de- 
sign of  seizing  some  fugitive  supposed  to  have  taken  refuge  in 
that  region. 

One  day,  as  Dickson  was  riding  over  the  turnpike,  he  wai 
accosted  by  a  person  passing  in  the  same  direction  on  foot.  "Ye 
look  kind  o'  lonesome,  ridin'  alone;  p'r'aps  ye  wouldn't  mind 
givin'  me  a  lift  as  fur  as  the  Corners." 

"Jump  aboard,"  replied  Dickson. 

"  The  turnpike  don't  look  much  as  it  did  about  a  week  ago," 
observed  the  chance  passenger,  as  he  pulled  the  blanket  over  his 
knees.  "  Though  p'r'aps  you  wan't  in  these  parts  at  the  time," 
—  with  a  glance  at  Dickson's  face.  "The  water  was  up  to  a 
boss's  knees  all  along  this  road,  and  a  good  deal  deeper  in  places. 
But  it  fell  'bout  as  sudden  as  it  riz.  It  had  n't  more  'n  time  to 
freeze  over,  'fore  down  it  went,  and  there  wan't  nothiu'  but  a  scum 
of  ice  left  on  the  interval.  Then  the  snow  come;  and  now  ye 
would  n't  know  there  'd  been  a  freshet  at  all.  Do  you  belong  in 
these  parts  ?  " 

"  I  've  been  stoppiri'  a  few  days  down  here,"  replied  Dickson. 

"  Bizness,  I  s'pose  ?  " 

"Wai,  business  and  pleasure  combined.  I  wanted  to  see  what 
kind  o'  stuff  you  Yankees  was  made  of," —  with  a  grin  of  insolent 
good-nature. 

"  You  're  from  the  South,  I  take  it?  " 

"Wai,  I  be!  The  people  in  these  diggiti's  have  pooty  gener- 
ally found  that  out,  I  rcck'n  !  " 

Mr.  Cnunlott  —  for  the  passenger  was  no  other  than  our  friend 
Enos — felt  a  good  deal  excited,  and  his  teeth  began  to  chatter. — 
"  I  guess  likely  ye  remember  the  freshet,  then ! " 

"  \V;il,  I  reck'n  !  Some  things  't  nn't  so  ensy  to  nih  r.::t !  "  snid 
Dickson,  whipping  his  horse. 


MR.  CRUMLETT'S  SPECULATIONS.  3-49 


"  'T  was  dre'ful  unfort'nit  'bout  her  gittin'  drownded  ! '  ob- 
served Mr.  Crumlett,  in  a  friendly  tone. 

"  I  would  n't  have  had  it  happen,"  cried  Dickson,  "  for  twice 
the  wuth  of  her  !  that 's  a  fact !  But  't  an't  all  over  with  !  " 

"  How  do  ye  git  along  with  Mr.  Jackwood  ?  " 

"  0,  we  're  gitt'n'  along  !     Things  is  work'n' !  " 

"  I  s'pose  there  an't  no  doubt,"  said  Enos,  "  'bout  her  beiu* 
di  ownded  —  hey  ?  You  give  it  up  as  a  gone  case,  I  s'pose  ?  ' 

"  It 's  niigbty  doubtful  'bout  our  ever  hearin'  of  her  agin,  I 
reck'n,"  replied  Dickson. 

"Arter  all,"  remarked  Mr.  Cruralett,  "'twould  n't  be  nothin' 
so  very  strange,  if  she  was  hid  away  some'eres  right  in  the  neigh- 
borhood. 'T  an't  't  all  likely,  I  know;  but  s'posin'  she  was?" 

"  'T  an't  a  supposable  case,  hardly  ;  and  if  she  was,  the  next 
thing  'u'd  be  to  git  a  clue  of  her.  Gi'  me  a  clue,"  said  Ditvk&on, 
with  professional  assurance,  "and  't  an't  easy  to  trip  im-  up! 
The  gal  never  'd  got  away  as  she  did,  if  I  could  have  had  my 
way." 

Mr.  Crumlett  chuckled  nervously.  "  Wai,  there  an't  no  use 
talkin',  if  she  's  drownded,  —  but  if  she  only  was  hid  away  some- 
'eres, 't  would  n't  be  a  bad  joke,  hey  ?  You  'd  be  tickled,  I 
guess  !  " 

"  Wai,  I  should,  —  particularly  if  I  got  suspicions  of  it  in 
time !  " 

"Can't  help  laffin' !  "  chuckled  Mr.  Crumlett;  "but,  arter  all, 
it 's  no  use ;  there  an't  a  doubt  but  that  she  's  drownded ;  you 
really  think  there  an't,  I  s'pose?  " 

"  1  'd  give,"  said  Dickson,  casting  a  shrewd  glance  at  his  com- 
panion,— "  I  'd  give  a  hundred  dollars,  out  o'  my  own  pocket,  jest 
to  have  sech  a  clue  as  I  spoke  c-f." 

"  A  hundred  dollars  !  "  echoed  Enos,  quickly.  "  You  would  n't 
give  me  a  hundred  dollars,  now,  — jest  s'pose,  for  instance  —  " 

"I  tell  you  what  \would  do,"  exclaimed  Dickson,  "jest  for 
the  sake  o'  talk'n'.  I  'd  give  fifty  dollars,  cash  down,  and  fifty 
more  in  case  the  gal  was  found.  That  'u'd  be  fair  enough, 
would  n't  it?" 

'  Wai,  yis,  I  s'pose  so,"  said  Mr.  Crumlett,  taken  with  a  gen- 
30 


350  MR.  CRUMLETT'S  SPECULATIONS. 


era!  shivering.     "  But,  since  she  's  drownded,  there  an't  no  use 
talkin'.     We  're  havin'  a  fine  spell  o'  weather  now." 

"  I  can  fancy  your  call'n'  it  fine,"  returned  Dickson.  "  But 
I  've  had  enough  of  your  Varmount  winters." 

"  It 's  warmer  where  you  be,  hey  ?  Do  ye  'xpect  to  stop  long 
in  these  parts?  " 

"  That  depends  altogether  upon  circumstances.  If  I  could  lay 
hands  on  that  gal  —  " 

"Ha!  ha!  it  makes  me  laf ! "  said  Mr.  Crumlett.  "What  if 
I  could  find  out  suthin  about  her?  —  though  't  an't  possible,  of 
course !  " 

"  Hold  them  'ar  lines  a  minute,  if  you  please."  Enos  took  the 
reins,  and  his  companion,  pulling  off  his  driving-gloves,  brought 
up  from  the  depths  of  his  pocket  a  handful  of  gold.  "Three  — 
gix  —  nine, — there's  twelve  half-eagles;  that  makes  sixty  dol- 
lars ;  I  '11  give  that  to  any  man  for  a  sure  clue  to  that  gal's  where- 
abouts, if  she  's  livin',  and  in  the  States ;  and  as  much  more  if 
she  's  found,  in  consequence.  Now,  thar  's  a  chance  for  a  specu- 
lation." 

"  So  there  is,  —  or,  ruther,  would  be,"  —  Mr.  Crumlett's  teeth 
chattered  harder  than  ever,  —  "  but  what 's  the  use  ?  " 

"  That 's  gold,"  said  Dickson,  clinking  the  coin.  "  Sixty  dol- 
lars,—  twice  sixty  is  a  hundred  and  forty  —  " 

"  A  hundred  and  twenty  !  "  interrupted  Mr.  Crumlett. 

"  Wai,  we  '11  call  it  a  hundred  and  forty,  for  the  sake  of  talk ; 
sixty  down,  and  eighty  on  condish'n." 

"  What  do  ye  s'pose  'u'd  be  done  with  her,  if  she  should  bo 
found?"  chattered  Mr.  Crumlett. 

"  Why,"  said  Dickson,  "  she  's  got  friends  up  here,  I  rcck'ri 
They  'd  buy  her,  ruther  'n  see  her  go  South  agin,  would  n't  they? 
All  the  owner  wants  is  the  wuth  of  his  property." 

"  That 's  nat'ral !  "  said  Mr.  Crumlett. 

"  And,  under  the  circumstances,  he  'd  put  her  't  a  low  figur'. 
0,"  cried  Dickson  cracking  his  whip,  carelessly,  "  I  'd  be  respon- 
sible there  should  n't  be  no  trouble  about  that." 

"Do  ye  think  so?  are  ye  sure?"  demanded  Mr.  Crumlett 
"  Hold  on:  I  <rot  to  irit  out  here." 


MR.  CRUMLETT'S  SPECULATIONS.  351 


'I  'm  sorry;  I  was  in  hopes  o'  havin'  your  company  cl'ar  tc 
the  village.  Won't  ye  go  no  further  ?  " 

"Can't  very  well,  —  should  like  to,  but  I  got  an  arrant  over 
here.  —  Look  here  !  "  cried  Mr.  Crumlett  —  how  his  teeth  did 
chatter  !  — "  but  never  mind  !  I  could  n't  find  out  nothin',  if  I 
should  try.  So,  'tan't  no  use  talkin'.  Though,  by  gracious!  I'm 
a  good  mind  to  inquire  'round !  You  won't  be  drivin'  this  way 
to-morrer  'bout  this  time,  will  yc?" 

"  I  don't  know  but  I  shall,"  returned  Dickson  ;  "  why  ?  " 

"  Wai,  nothin',"  said  Eaos.  "  But,  then,  if  you  're  goin'  by,  — 
wal,  I  don't  know,  if  you  should  turn  into  that  'ere  road  you 
passed  jest  t'  other  side  o'  the  secont  house  over  the  crick,  per'aps 
you  'd  find  me  choppin'  on  the  edge  o'  the  woods.  I  don't  'xpect 
to  find  out  anything ;  but,  if  I  should,"  —  chatter,  chatter  !  shiver, 
shiver!  —  "  wal,  on  the  hull,  I  guess 't  won't  be  wuth  while  tc 
think  about  it !  " 

"  I  '11  make  it  wuth  yer  while ! "  And  Dickson,  giving  Mr. 
Crumlett's  hand  a  hearty  shake,  left  a  piece  of  money  in  it. 
"That 's  to  pay  ye  for  your  trouble,  any  way.  Come,  ride  over 
to  the  tavern,  and  take  suthin !  " 

"  Can't  possibly  !  "  said  Enos,  getting  out  of  the  sleigh. 

"  Wal,  see  ye  to-morrer  !  "  exclaimed  Dickson,  confidentially. 
"  Make  it  all  right,  ye  know !  Take  care  o'  yerself,  old  boy !  " 
He  drove  away.  Poor  Crumlett !  how  he  did  shiver,  as  he  gazed 
after  him  !  He  could  n't  tell  why  he  shivered,  —  the  day  was  not 
extremely  cold,  —  and  now  he  discovered  that  the  perspiration  was 
starting  from  every  pore  of  his  skin. 

"A  HUNDRED  AND  FORTY  DOLLARS!"  —  Chatter,  chatter  !  shiver, 
shiver !  again ;  and  Mr.  Crumlett  wipe<?  the  cold  sweat-drops 
from  his  face.  He  thought  he  was  going  to  have  a  "  shake  of  the 
agerj"  but  it  was  worse  than  that:  he  had  caught  tie  worst 
kind  of  yellow  fever,  from  the  sight  of  Dickson's  gold. 


XLI. 

CONFESSIONS. 

CHARLOTTE  raised  her  head  feebly  from  the  pillow,  with  a 
troubled  expression ;  but,  perceiving  Bertha,  who  sat  watching  by 
the  bedside,  a  faint,  grateful  smile  stole  over  her  wan  features. 

"  0,"  said  she,  with  deep  emotion,  "  you  are  always  watching ! 
Good  Bertha  !  dear  Bertha  !  I  should  have  died  but  for  you  !  I 
have  been  very  sick,  have  1  not  ?  " 

"  Very  sick,"  replied  Bertha,  taking  the  poor  girl's  hands  in 
hers.  "  0,  I  am  so  thankful  to  see  you  better  now  !  " 

"  I  am  afraid  my  mind  is  not  quite  right,  as  yet,"  Charlotte 
said.  "  Every  noise  startles  me.  I  thought,  just  now,  some  per- 
sons I  feared  were  rushing  into  the  room." 

"  It  was  grandmother,  who  looked  in,  to  ask  how  you  were.'1 

"  And  Hector?"  said  Charlotte.  "  Something  has  happened  to 
him  !  God  help  me,  if  he  does  not  come  soon  !  I  am  still  hunted  ; 
and  I  lie  here  sick,  while  I  should  be  hastening  to  a  place  of 
safety  !  But  I  will  not  repine.  —  Tell  me,  Bertha !  did  I  talk 
much  in  my  fever  ?  " 

"  A  good  deal,  at  times,"  said  Bertha. 

"  Will  you  tell  me  all  I  said  ?  " 

"  I  did  not  try  to  remember  anything,  because  you  were  delir- 
ious." 

"  I  wish  you  would  tell  me  !  "  said  Charlotte,  w'th  a  troubled 
smile. 

Bertha  drew  near ;  her  cheeks  changed  their  color,  and  her 
lips  quivered ;  but,  bending  affectionately  over  the  pillow,  she 
whispered  something  which  made  the  sufferer  start  and  clasp  her 
hand  upon  her  heart. 


CONFESSIONS.  353 


"  It  is  true,  Bertha  !  "  faltered  Charlotte. 

"  You  are  his  wife ! "  said  Bertha ;  and  her  features  seemed 
transfixed  with  pain. 

"  You  are  not  glad  to  hear  it !  "  said  Charlotte,  sadly.  "  You 

think  that  one  in  my  position But,  believe  me,  Bertha,  it 

was  his  LOVE  !  Perhaps  I  should  not  have  yielded.  I  know  I  have 
destroyed  the  peace  and  the  pride  of  his  family,  —  but,  0,  Bertha, 
do  not  you  hate  me  for  it !  do  not !  You  are  happy ;  you  are 
united  to  the  man  you  love ;  and  I  am  glad  for  you  !  And  you  — 
in  your  place  —  do  not  judge  me  harshly,  —  do  not,  good 
Bertha !  " 

"  0,  Charlotte  !  "  Bertha  cried  out ;  "  if  you  could  look  into 
my  heart !  You  have  not  understood  me  !  And  I  have  not 
understood  myself  till  now  !  " 

"  You  know  me  now,  what  I  am,"  said  Charlotte.  "  If  you 
still  love  me  and  trust  me,  why  not  open  our  hearts  to  each 
other?  I  will  show  you  all  of  mine  —  " 

"  But  mine  !  "  exclaimed  Bertha,  —  "  0,  what  a  wayward  thing 
it  is !  You  would  hate  me,  Charlotte !  " 

"  Hate  you,  dearest  Bertha  !  " 

"  Yes,  —  for  just  now  I  hated  you  ;  I  had  something  like  death 
for  you  in  my  soul !  You  did  not  know  —  that  I  —  that  I  —  loved 
Hector!" 

"  Bertha  !  Bertha  !  "  moaned  Charlotte. 

"  What  frenzy  has  forced  me  to  tell  you?  "  cried  Bertha.  "  But 
you  will  not  hate  me  ;  you  will  not  betray  me  !  I  must  confess 
myself  to  you,  or  the  weight  that  is  on  my  soul  will  kill  me !  I 
love  my  husband  ;  —  for  he  is  good,  and  how  could  I  not  love  him  ? 
—  but  not  as  a  wife  should  love  a  husband  !  I  never  did  !  I  believed, 
1  hoped  I  should,  when  we  were  married.  But  I  shrink  from  his 
near  approach.  I  am  repelled  from  him  by  every  instinct  and 
feeling  of  my  nature.  Charlotte,  tell  me  what  to  do  !  " 

Charlotte,  in  her  amazement  and  pity,  could  not  utter  a  word. 

"  I  am  no  longer  jealous,"  Bertha  went  on.     "  I  felt  but  one 

sharp,  piercing  pang,  when  you  told  me  you  were  Hector's  wife. 

1  gave  him  up  long  ago  ;  I  have  schooled  myself  to  resignation  ; 

A  praj  for  his  happiness  and  yours,  from  the  depths  of  my  heart.' 

30* 


354  CONFESSIONS. 


"  I  know  you  do  !  "  said  Charlotte.  "  0,  Bertha  !  poor,  dear 
Bertha  !  what  can  I  do  for  you  ?  —  Do  not  sob  so  !  " 

"  I  will  not,"  returned  Bertha,  struggling  with  herself.  "  I 
have  no  right  to  lay  my  burdens  upon  you.  Yet  1  needed  to 
confess  myself  to  some  one." 

"  And  you  deemed  me  worthy."  Bertha  kissed  her  friend.  "  0, 
eister  !  "  breathed  Charlotte,  "  your  lot  is  hard  !  But  duty  will 
sustain  you,  and  prayer  will  make  you  strong." 

"  I  do  not  know,"  exclaimed  Bertha,  wildly.  "  I  thought  I 
did  my  duty  when  I  married.  I  see  now  how  it  was.  I  silenced 
my  nature ;  I  stifled  my  deepest  convictions  ;  I  followed  the 
dictates  of  calculation.  But  I  thought  I  was  doing  right.  And, 
if  I  could  then  be  so  deceived,  how  can  I  ever  be  sure  of  the  truth? 
I  dare  not  even  pray  !  In  the  very  act  horrible  promptings  come 
to  me.  It  is  as  if  Sata,n  mocked  me  !  " 

"  Perhaps,"  said  Charlotte,  "  this  is  the  punishment  for  diso- 
beying your  deepest  convictions.  The  Spirit  has  been  grieved 
away.  But  seek  it  again,  and  it  will  come ;  it  will  teach  you 
what  to  do." 

"  You  comfort  me,  Charlotte  !  But,  0,  the  fatal  error  !  —  I 
had  not  the  heroism  to  live  an  old  maid ;  that  is  it !  Mr.  Ruke- 
ly  was  good  —  he  was  a  minister  —  I  desired  a  home,  and  a 
position.  And,  as  I  could  not  have  the  one  I  loved,  I  flattered 
myself  I  ought  to  marry  him.  I  called  esteem  and  friendship 
love ;  I  made  expediency  appear  a  duty.  Do  not  think  I  have 
been  disappointed  in  my  husband.  He  is  all  I  expected,  and  more ; 
he  is  too  good  to  me.  Only  —  we  do  not  belong  to  each  other. 
And,  Charlotte,  was  it  not  a  great  sin  ?  " 

Charlotte  shuddered  involuntarily.  A  long  silence  followed. 
You  have  something  to  say  to  me  of  yourself,"  uttered  Bertha, 
at  length. 

"  Yes ;  but  I  am  too  weak  now.    To-morrow,  if  I  am  stronger — " 

"  To-morrow,  then,  dear  Charlotte  !  —  I  will  wait.  We  will 
both  be  stronger  then."  And  Bertha  embraced  her  friend,  hold- 
ing her  long  in  her  arms,  and  kissing  her  fervently. 

On  the  following  day,  Bertha,  having  an  hour's  leisure,  camo 


CONFESSIONS.  355 


in  and  sat  down  by  the  convalescent's  side.  "  You  were  to  tell 
me  something,"  she  said. 

"  Yes,  dear  Bertha.  But  sit  nearer.  I  want  your  hand  in 
mine." 

Having  raised  her  friend  to  an  easy  position,  and  braced  her  up 
with  pillows,  Bertha  sat  upon  the  side  of  the  bed,  holding  her 
hand,  and  supporting  her  in  a  half-embrace. 

"  It  is  the  story  of  my  life,  Bertha.  Gamille  is  the  name  my 
father  gave  me.  He  was  a  French  merchant,  named  Antoine 
Delisard.  In  his  youth  he  had  been  attached  to  a  young  girl, — 
my  namesake ;  but  both  were  poor,  and,  on  a  visit  to  Louisiana, 
he  became  acquainted  with  a  lady  whose  wealth  and  accomplish- 
ments fascinated  him,  and  they  were  married.  It  was  an  unhappy 
union.  She  proved  a  cold  and  heartless  woman,  with  nothing  in 
her  nature  to  compensate  him  for  the  sacrifice  of  poor  Camille.  A 
separation  took  place ;  and  he  was  about  returning  to  France, 
when,  by  chance,  he  saw  my  mother.  She  belonged  to  a  bankrapt 
estate  ;  she  was  to  be  sold  ;  and  he  purchased  her.  She  was  then 
seventeen.  I  think  she  was  beautiful.  She  was  the  child  of  a 
white  father,  and  of  a  mother  scarce  darker  than  himself.  She 
was  not  wanting  in  education  and  accomplishments.  Brought  up 
in  her  father's  family,  she  had  received  the  same  advantages 
with  his  legitimate  children.  My  father  loved  her ;  and  the 
difference  in  their  ages  did  not  prevent  her  i-eturning  his  attach- 
ment with  all  the  fervor  of  her  nature. 

"  I  was  their  only  child.  We  lived  in  a  pleasant  part  of  the 
city,  where  not  more  than  half  a  dozen  friends  came  to  visit  my 
father  in  the  course  of  the  year.  He  seemed  entirely  absorbed  in 
his  affection  for  my  mother  and  me.  I  was  his  pet.  I  remember 
how  playfully  he  used  to  snatch  me  up  in  his  arms,  when  he 
returned  home  at  night  from  his  work.  It  was  joyful  times  then  ! 
My  mother  was  proud  and  happy.  Sometimes  they  took  me  with 
them  into  the  country  ;  and  I  recollect  that  once  there  was  a  great 
etorm  ;  the  wind  broke  down  trees,  and  tore  them  up  by  the  roots, 
and  my  father's  hat  flew  away  in  a  cloud  of  dust.  He  held  me  in 
his  arms,  to  prevent  my  flying  away  too.  At  first  I  thought  it 
greaft  fun,  and  clapped  my  hands  ;  but  afterwards  I  cried  with 


3,r>6  CONFESSIONS. 


fright,  while  my  father  ran  with  me  across  a  field,  in  a  high  wind, 
to  a  house  which  remains  as  distinct  a  picture  in  my  mind  as  if  I 
had  seen  it  yesterday.  A  few  such  incidents  form  prominent 
points  in  my  memory  of  those  days ;  the  rest  is  smooth  and  quiet. 

"  When  we  were  alone,  my  mother  used  to  occupy  herself  in 
teaching  me  to  read  and  write.  If  I  was  indolent,  she  excited  my 
ambition  by  reminding  me  of  my  father,  whose  praise  and  encour- 
agement made  my  little  heart  beat  proudly  and  happily.  I  remem- 
ber his  saying  to  me,  one  day,  '  You  will  shine  with  the  rest  of 
them,  when  we  go  to  France.'  I  was  sitting  on  his  knee  repeating 
a  lesson  my  mother  had  taught  me.  I  looked  in  his  face — I 
think  of  it  now  as  such  a  kind,  good  face  !  —  and  asked  what  he 
meant  by  going  to  Prance.  '  You  will  know,  one  of  these  days, 
darling  ! '  said  he,  —  and,  kissing  me,  he  took  me  in  his  arms  and 
hugged  me  tight.  For  a  good  many  days  I  thought  of  what  he 
had  said.  I  asked  my  mother  what  he  meant ;  she  told  me 
that  France  was  a  beautiful  country  away  over  the  sea,  and  that 
we  were  all  going  there  together,  as  soon  as  my  father  was  rich 
enough,  so  that  we  could  live  in  grand  style,  and  spend  as  much 
money  as  we  pleased.  She  seemed  elated  with  the  idea,  and  of 
course  I  thought  it  fine  ;  but  an  old  negro  servant  we  had  laughed 
at  us,  and  told  us  she  had  heard  too  many  such  stories  to  believe 
them.  That  was  the  first  time  I  ever  saw  my  mother  angry.  She 
threatened  to  have  the  old  woman  whipped  ;  but  she  only  laughed 
the  more,  showing  her  hideous  gums  and  broken  teeth,  which  I 
remember  to  this  day. 

"  After  that  we  talked  a  great  deal  about  France.  But  we 
were  careful  not  to  let  the  old  woman  hear  us  ;  and,  if  she  entered 
the  room,  we  were  silent.  My  mother  excited  my  imagination 
with  romantic  stories,  repeating  what  my  father  had  told  her. 
with  a  thousand  exaggerations.  I  thought  of  nothing,  dreamed 
of  nothing,  but  France.  But  one  day  my  father  came  home  with 
a  headache,  and  went  to  bed.  The  next  I  remember,  the  house 
was  filled  with  strangers;  I  was  terrified,  and  my  mother  wua 
frantic.  There  was  a  tall,  pale,  severe  woman,  who  had  her 
servants  and  doctors,  and  who  would  not  let  us  go  into  the  room 
where  he  was.  One  day,  however,  my  mother  armed  herself 


CONFESSIONS.  357 


with  a  knife,  and  rushed  into  the  room,  dragging  me  aftei  her. 
There  was  a  pallor  and  fury  in  her  looks  which  frightened  the 
attendants  away,  and  for  some  time  we  had  sole  possession  of  the 
chamber.  My  father  called  her  his  brave  girl ;  and,  although  ho 
was  very  sick,  he  pressed  us  in  his  arms,  declaring  that  we  should 
not  be  taken  from  him  again.  But  suddenly  he  fell  back.  My 
mother  screamed.  The  pale  woman  rushed  in,  and  we  were  car- 
ried out.  I  remember  my  mother  clinging  to  the  bed,  from  which 
she  was  torn  by  main  force,  struggling  and  shrieking ;  then  we 
were  locked  up  in  a  solitary  room.  I  knew,  from  her  grief  and 
despair,  that  my  father  was  dead.  I  had  little  knowledge,  how- 
ever, of  the  destiny  that  awaited  us.  I  cried  because  he  could  not 
go  with  us  to  France  !  I  wondered  if  we  should  go  without  him  ! 

"The  pale  woman  was  his  wife.  By  law,  we  were  a  part  of 
his  property,  and  she  and  her  children  were  his  heirs.  Then  we 
learned  what  it  was  to  be  slaves !  My  mother  had  almost  forgot- 
ten ;  I  had  never  known.  I  became  the  companion  of  slave-chil- 
dren, on  a  plantation  owned  by  Mrs.  Delisard's  father.  I  was 
half-clad,  like  them ;  I  ate  their  coarse  food ;  I  slept  in  their  mis- 
erable huts." 

"  And  your  mother?"  said  Bertha. 

"  She  was  kept  as  a  servant  in  the  house.  I  did  not  know, 
then,  how  much  she  was  to  be  pitied.  The  change  in  her  own 
condition  was  not  her  hardest  trial.  To  see  me,  her  darling 
growing  up  with  children  of  an  ignorant  and  degraded  class,  was 
more  than  she  could  bear.  One  day  Mrs.  Delisard  brought  a  lady 
to  visit  the  plantation.  It  is  one  of  the  most  terrible  days  in  my 
remembrance.  I  do  not  know  the  immediate  cause  of  the  out- 
burst ;  but  my  mother  lost  all  command  of  her  temper,  and  poured 
forth  a  volley  of  indignation  and  anger  against  her  mistress,  of 
which  I  had  a  vague  consciousness  of  being  in  some  way  the  sub- 
ject. Mrs.  Delisard  said,  'The  child  shall  be  sold  ! '  Her  pale- 
ness frightened  me  more  than  my  mother's  violence.  During  the 
scene,  a  young  man  rode  up,  and,  throwing  himself  from  his  horse 
struck  my  mother  with  the  butt  of  his  riding-whip  across  the  tern 
pies.  It  was  Mrs.  Delisard's  son  —  " 

"  Your  brother  ?  "  ejaculated  Bertha. 


b58  CONFESSIONS. 


"  I  suppose  so  !  —  My  mother  fell  to  the  grouad,  and  wa^  car- 
ried away  insensible.  I  never  saw  her  again." 

"  She  died ! " 

"  0,  no !  she  was  not  so  happy  !  There  was  a  place  on  the 
plantation  where  the  worst  field-hands  were,  on  extraordinary  oc- 
casions, confined  for  bad  behavior.  It  was  a  wretched,  dismal 
pen,  which  the  superstitious  slaves  had  peopled  with  imaginary 
horrors  ;  and  to  be  imprisoned  there  over  night  was  looked  upon 
as  a  more  dreadful  and  degrading  punishment  than  whipping. 
There  my  mother  was  shut  up,  and  the  great  black  padlock  was 
put  upon  the  door.  I  heard  Mrs.  Delisard  say,  '  to  humiliate 
her?  —  and  for  years  after  I  could  not  hear  the  word  humiliate^ 
without  associating  it  with  all  that  was  gloomy  and  terrible." 

"  How  long  was  she  kept  there?  " 

"  I  do  not  know.  No  person  was  allowed  to  go  near  her.  The 
slaves  huddled  together  that  night,  and  told  over  all  the  stories 
which  could  be  remembered  or  imagined  in  connection  with  the 
jail.  There  was  a  tradition  of  an  old  negro  who  died  there,  one 
night,  years  before,  in  consequence  of  a  cutting-up,  or  flogging, 
and  whose  ka'nt,  or  apparition,  was  sure  to  manifest  itself  when- 
ever there  were  any  troubles  on  the  plantation.  One  of  the  story- 
tellers, who  had  passed  a  night  in  the  jail,  declared  that  he  heard 
the  old  negro  shelling  corn  on  a  shovel  until  three  o'clock  in  the 
morning.  The  rest  related  similar  superstitions,  frightening  them- 
selves and  each  other,  until  they  scarcely  dared  separate  for  the 
night.  For  my  part,  I  was  glad  to  creep  into  the  bunk  with  the 
other  children,  and  cover  my  eyes,  for  fear  of  seeing  the  ghost  of 
the  old  negro.  How  I  trembled  for  my  mother !  I  was  too  ter- 
rified even  to  cry; 

"The  next  morning,  after  the  hands  had  gone  to  the  field,  I 
was  waiting  anxiously  to  know  what  would  be  done  with  my 
mother,  or  if  she  was  still  alive,  when  there  was  an  inquiry  made 
for  me,  and  the  children  whispered  that  '  Milly  was  going  to  be 
sold ! ' " 

"Who  was  Milly?"  inquired  Bertha. 

"  If  you  had  seen  all  eyes  turned  upon  me,  with  shy  and  won- 
dering looks,  you  would  have  discovered  who  Milly  was!  That 


CONFESSIONS. 


was  the  nickname  of  Camille.  I  was  marc-hed  cut  for  inspection. 
The  overseer  of  the  plantation  turned  me  around,  and  ma-Jo  u-e 
show  my  arms  and  knees  to  a  stranger,  who  was  going  to  buy  me. 
I  remember  the  man's  saying  that  I  looked  sickly,  and  the  over- 
seer's saying  that  it  was  '  naVral  white.'  Then  they  walked  away 
together,  to  conclude  the  bargain.  I  saw  the  overseer  point 
towards  the  jail ;  and  it  seemed  to  me  that  he  was  explaining  why 
I  was  to  be  sold,  and  telling  about  my  mother.  All  this  time  I 
could  say  nothing  but  '  Don't  sell  me  !  please  don't  have  me 
sold ! '  I  was  sobbing,  when  one  of  the  servants  came  to  take  me 
to  the  piazxa,  where  Mrs.  Delisard  was  walking  with  her  visitor. 
The  lady  spoke  to  me  kindly,  and  asked  me  how  I  would  like  to 
have  her  buy  me.  I  said  I  did  not  want  to  be  sold.  '  But  you 
would  rather  go  with  me  than  with  that  man,  would  you  not?.' 
said  the  lady.  '  I  want  to  go  with  my  mother,'  said  I,  '  and  I  do 
not  want  to  be  sold.'  Then  she  said  something  aside  to  Mrs.  Del» 
isard.  I  only  heard  Mrs.  Delisard's  reply  that  she  was  deter- 
mined. I  thought  it  was  something  awful  to  be  determined ;  for 
I  was  wise  enough  to  see  that  there  was  no  mercy  in  her  heart  for 
either  my  mother  or  me. 

"  I  was  sold,  and  carried  away  that  day.  I  remember  strug- 
gling and  crying  to  see  my  mother  again ;  after  which,  I  can 
recall  nothing,  until  I  found  myself  in  my  new  home.  It  was  at 
the  house  of  the  lady  who  had  purchased  me.  She  came  and 
asked  me  how  I  was,  as  I  lay  upon  a  bed,  in  a  room  in  which  I 
had  awaked  without  even  knowing  how  I  was  brought  there.  I 
begged  to  be  taken  back  to  my  mother.  It  was  not  until  years 
after  that  I  heard  anything  definite  with  regard  to  her  fate. 
Then  I  learned  that,  on  coming  out  of  the  jail,  she  never  laughed 
again,  or  spoke,' unless  she  was  addressed.  Her  spirit  was  crushed. 
She  pined  away,  and  her  owners  tried  to  sell  her;  but  she  had 
become  unfit  for  any  labor ;  and,  in  the  c  mrse  of  a  few  months, 
she  died." 

"  Your  own  mother !  "  said  Bertha. 

"  Alas,  Bertha !"  continued  her  friend,  wiping  vv  vears,  '  I 
had  already  divined  her  fate.  For  a  long  time  after  .1  was  ^c  J. 
I  felt  her  spirit  crying  out  for  me,  and  refusing  to  be  cr-'^aov'^-J 


360  CONFESSIONS. 


But  at  length  she  seemed  to  come  to  me-;  and  one  night  I  had 
such  perfect  consciousness  of  her  presence,  that  I  firmly  believed 
she  had  been  near.  The  next  night,  I  felt  her  presence  again. 
She  told  me  in  a  dream  that  she  was  free,  and  that  she  would  be 
with  me  always,  to  guard  and  strengthen  me.  By  degrees  the 
truth  revealed  itself,  and  I  knew  her  spirit  had  attained  that  free- 
dom which  did  not  exist  for  her  on  earth. 

"  Like  Mrs.  Dclisard,  my  new  mistress  was  a  widow ;  she  was 
gay  and  independent ;  but  she  had  a  benevolent  heart,  and,  from 
the  first,  she  treated  me  with  a  great  deal  of  kindness.  She  was 
naturally  impatient ;  but,  as  I  became  accustomed  to  her  habits 
and  caprices,  I  could  wait  upon  her  and  please  her  better  than 
any  one  else.  I  think  she  had  a  real  affection  for  me.  I  could 
tell  you  a  great  many  anecdotes  about  her ;  but  I  will  relate  only 
one  or  two,  which  make  points  in  my  own  history.  As  I  had 
much  leisure  time,  I  used  to  amuse  myself  with  reading  such 
books  as  I  could  steal  from  the  library  and  return  without  danger 
of  discovery.  How  Mrs.  Beman  came  to  suspect  the  habit,  I 
never  knew  ;  but  one  day  she  said  to  me,  '  Milly,  can  you  read  ? ' 
'  I  could  read  a  little  once,'  I  acknowledged,  tremblingly.  After 
a  few  more  such  questions,  which  I  answered  evasively,  she  said, 
1  Take  my  advice,  Milly,  and  do  not  read  any  more.  It  is  a  bad 
practice  for  girls  in  your  condition.  Servants  have  no  business 
with  books.  Above  all,  do  not  read  such  stories  as  the  Bride  of 
the  Forest ;  they  will  only  serve  to  put  idle  fancies  into  your 
head,  and  make  you  unhappy.' 

"  The  Bride  of  the  Forest  was  the  book  I  had  been  reading 
that  -very  day !  I  said  nothing,  but  went  away  and  cried.  That 
night  Mrs.  Beman  called  me  to  her,  after  she  was  in  bed.  '  Take 
this  book,'  said  she,  '  and  show  me  how  well  you  can  read.'  The 
book  was  the  Bride  of  the  Forest!  I  felt  my  cheek  burn,  and  my 
voice  trembled  as  I  read.  But,  after  a  little  stammering,  I  got  on 
very  well.  Mrs.  Beman  praised  me.  '  It  is  quite  interesting,' 
said  she.  '  Continue  ;  but  do  not  try  to  read  so  fast.'  I  was  cn- 
c/uraged.  I  read  chapter  after  chapter,  waiting  for  her  to  tell 
me  to  stop.  At  length  I  glanced  furtively  from  the  page,  to 
observe  her  expression.  She  was  fast  asleep.  From  that  time 


CONFESSIONS.  361 


one  of  the  pleasantest  duties  I  had  to  perform  was  to  read  her  to 
sleep. 

"  An  unfortunate  occurrence  put  an  end  to  this  recreation. 
Mrs.  Beman  married.  She  took  home  a  handsome  young  hus- 
band, several  years  younger  than  herself.  The  servants  said 
among  themselves  that  he  married  her  for  her  property,  and  she 
him  for  his  beauty.  They  liked  the  change ;  and  not  enough 
could  be  said  in  praise  of  the  new  master.  He  was  caieless,  lib- 
eral, and  indulgent.  Everybody  was  happy  but  me.  I  found  the 
coarse  society  of  the  servants  a  poor  recompense  for  the  delicious 
nights  I  used  to  spend  reading  to  my  mistress. 

"  But  it  was  not  long  before  I  met  with  another  change  of  for- 
tune. One  day,  my  mistress  called  me  to  an  account.  '  Milly,' 
said  she,  '  how  do  you  like  Mr.  Woodbridge  ?  '  '  He  is  a.  good 
master,'  said  I ;  'all  the  servants  like  him.'  ' He  is  kind  to 
you,  Milly,  is  he  not  ? '  '0,  always  ! '  said  I.  '  Indeed,'  said  my 
mistress,  'he  has  taken  a  particular  fancy  to  you,  has  n't  he?  '  I 
trembled,  and  blushed,  and  said  I  did  not  know.  '  0,'  said  she, 
laughing.  —  it  was  a  laugh  I  did  not  like,  —  'you  know  very  well 
whether  he  fancies  you  or  not.  Did  he  ever  kiss  you?'  ''No, 
said  I,  earnestly,  <  he  never  did  ! '  '  Did  he  ever  try  ?  '  she  asked, 
in  a  quiet,  significant  tone,  which  told  me  that  she  knew  every- 
thing. '  Be  honest,  Milly,  and  tell  me  the  truth.' 

"  Although  I  had  learned  to  lie  in  her  service,  without  doing 
the  least  violence  to  my  conscience,  I  could  not  compose  my  face 
to  lie  to  her.  '  Yes,'  said  I,  '  he  tried  once  —  in  fun.'  —  '  And 
once  afterwards,  in  earnest  —  eh,  Milly  ?'  — '  But  I  would  n't  let 
him  ! '  I  protested,  looking  her  full  in  the  face.  '  I  believe  you,' 
said  my  mistress.  '  He  is  coming,'  she  added,  starting  from  her 
seat.  '  Tell  him  I  am  in  the  garden.' 

"  She  stepped  into  the  alcove,  just  as  Mr.  Woodbridge  entered 
the  room.  '  Where  is  your  mistress,  Milly  ?  '  he  asked.  '  I  don't 
know,  sir,'  said  I.  '  I  reckon  she  's  in  the  garden.'  lie  pulled 
me  by  the  arm,  and  tried  to  make  me  sit  upon  his  knee.  '  You 
are  the  queerest  girl  that  ever  was  ! '  said  he.  '  What 's  the  rea- 
son you  won't  let  me  kiss  you  ? '  I  told  him  that  he  was  my  mis- 
tress' husband,  and  that  she  was  very  fond  of  him.  '  And  so  am 
31 


362  CONFESSIONS. 


I  of  her,'  said  he ;  '  but  that  don't  hinder  my  liking  a  pretty 
young  face  like  yours,  you  know.  She  was  young  once,  but  that 
was  a  good  while  ago.  Don't  tell  her  I  said  so,  unless  you  want 
her  to  take  both  our  heads  off !  ' 

"  He  was  trying  to  kiss  me  again,  and  I  was  fighting  him  away, 
when  he  suddenly  let  me  go.  My  mistress  was  coming  out  of  the 
alcove.  '  That  will  do,  George ! '  said  she,  smiling,  with  her  fore- 
finger raised.  But  her  cheek  was  pale,  and  there  was  something 
bitter  and  vindictive  in  her  smile.  I  never  saw  so  blank  a  face 
as  his  !  '  You  may  go,  Milly,'  — and  I  ran  from  the  room.  Two 
or  three  days  after,  she  called  me  to  her,  and,  talking  to  me 
kindly,  though  not  with  the  frank  good-nature  with  which  she 
used  to  talk  to  me,  told  me  she  thought  it  best  for  me  to  have 
another  mistress.  'Don't  cry,  Milly,'  said  she.  '  You  are  a  good 
girl,  and  I  have  found  a  good  mistress  for  you.  It  is  Mrs.  Graves. 
She  has  coveted  you  ever  since  I  told  her,  long  ago,  that  I  had  a 
servant  to  read  me  to  sleep.  Her  husband  is  an  old  man ;  and 
there  will  be  little  danger  of  his  liking  you  too  well/ 

"  All  this  was  some  consolation.  But  I  was  attached  to  Mrs. 
Woodbridge,  and  could  not  bear  the  thought  of  leaving  her.  I 
did  not  know,  until  afterwards,  how  really  kind  she  had  been. 
She  had  sold  me  at  a  sacrifice  to  Mrs.  Graves,  in  order  to  secure 
for  me  a  good  mistress ;  although  she  might  have  obtained  a  much 
higher  price  for  me,  at  the  hands  of  speculators." 

"  How  strange  it  sounds,  to  hear  you  speak  of  being  bought  and 
sold  !  "  exclaimed  Bertha. 

"  It  sounds  strange  to  me,  too,  Bertha  !  All  this  part  of  my 
life  seems  like  a  dream,  as  I  look  back  upon  it.  Mrs.  Graves 
was  very  young.  She  had  married  when  a  mere  child,  to  please 
an  ambitious  parent ;  her  husband  was  old  and  jealous.  She  had 
suffered  extremely  before  I  saw  her ;  but  she  had  naturally  a  pa- 
tient temper,  and  a  spiritual  mind;  and  she  found  her  consolation 
iu  the  deep  realities  of  a  religious  life.  I  never  cease  to  be  thank- 
fill  to  the  kind  Providence  that  placed  me  under  her  influence. 
As  her  husband's  jealousy  shut  her  out  from  society,  she  made 
a  companion  and  confidant  of  me;  and  I  grew  up  with  .her, 
much  like  a  younger  sister.  She  first  taught  mo  the  beauty  of 


CONFESSIONS.  363 


truth ;  and  her  gentle  words  found  always  such  sweet  echoes  in 
my  heart,  that  I  asked  no  greater  privilege  than  to  sit  at  her 
feet,  with  tears  of  tenderness  in  my  eyes,  and  listen.  She  used 
to  tell  me  that  nobody  in  the  world  knew  her,  but  me.  I  am  sure 
there  was  no  one  else  to  whom  she  could  talk  of  that  which  was 
nearest  her  heart.  The  little  society  she  saw  consisted  of  worldly 
and  superficial  people,  with  whom  she  could  feel  no  sympathy. 
Her  chief  consolation,  out  of  herself,  was  books,  which  I  used  to 
read  to  her.  But  the  volumes  she  chose  were  different  from  those 
I  read  to  Mrs.  Beman.  She  took  great  delight  in  the  Gospels ; 
I  used  often  to  read  a  passage,  then  together  we  would  seek  for 
its  interior  meaning.  0,  Bertha !  how  wonderful  are  all  those 
sayings  of  our  Saviour  !  I  had  read  them  before,  without  under- 
standing them.  To  Mrs.  Graves  I  owed  the  revelation  of  their 
spirit.  The  love,  the  wisdom,  the  beauty  of  that  spirit,  widened, 
and  deepened,  and  brightened,  day  by  day,  as  I  studied  under  her 
instruction.  Next  to  the  Scriptures,  there  were  a  few  books  of 
essays  and  philosophy,  that  gratified  her  most.  Then  I  read 
choice  volumes  of  travels,  history,  poetry,  and  romance.  So  three 
years  passed.  I  was  seventeen,  when  Richard,  a  nephew  of  Mr. 
Graves,  came  home  from  Germany,  where  he  had  been  studying. 
He  visited  us  often ;  and  I  soon  discovered  a  strong  sympathy 
between  him  and  his  youthful  aunt.  She  confessed  to  him  her 
aspirations  and  her  faith  :  and,  in  return,  he  imparted  to  her  the 
results  of  his  philosophical  studies,  with  reminiscences  of  his 
foreign  tour.  He  was  surprised  to  find  that,  with  her  own  intui- 
tive perceptions,  she  had  discerned  truths  which  he  had  arrived  at 
only  with  great  labor.  .But,  with  all  -his  learning,  she  became  his 
teacher.  Like  me,  he  sat  at  her  feet,  and  listened  with  tearful 
eyes.  Sometimes  she  spoke  like  one  inspired,  putting  all  his 
philosophy  aside ;  then  she  would  ask  his  forgiveness,  sweetly  and 
humbly,  telling  him  that  she  knew  nothing,  and  that  it  was  not 
herself  that  spoke. 

"  I  was  nearly  always  witness  of  their  interviews.  Sometimes 
Mr  Graves  was  present ;  then  his  wife  would  tell  me  gently  that 
I  could  retire.  If  he  went  away,  I  was  recalled.  But  this  stato 
of  things  could  not  continue.  One  evening,  Mr.  Graves  caiu<: 


364  CONFESSIONS. 


suddenly  upon  us,  when  we  supposed  him  fifty  miles  Away.  In 
the  muni  ing  he  had  given  out  word  that  he  was  going  upon  a 
journey,  to  be  absent  a  couple  of  days.  He  had  remained  in 
town  to  watch.  When  he  entered,  Richard  was  on  the  floor ; 
Mrs.  Graves  sat  upon  an  ottoman,  holding  his  head  in  her  lap. 
The  night  was  warm  ;  the  doors  were  all  flung  open ;  there  was 
no  light  but  the  glimmer  of  the  moon,  which  shone  through  the 
windows.  The  old  man  crept  in  like  a  cat.  I  cannot  describe 
the  scene  that  ensuod.  Mrs.  Graves,  in  her  gentlest  tones,  called 
me  to  witness  her  innocence.  Until  that  moment,  he  had  not  been 
aware  of  my  presence.  I  hastened  from  the  obscure  corner  where 
I  sat ;  but  the  sight  of  me  appeared  only  to  enrage  him  the  more. 
He  knew  the  confidence  Mrs.  Graves  placed  in  me,  and  believed  me 
a  mere  tool,  that  could  be  blind,  deaf,  and  dumb,  in  her  service, 
as  occasion  required.  Richard  was  driven  from  the  house.  He 
would  have  set  up  a  defence,  but  Mrs.  Graves  requested  him  to 
go.  She  was  calm  and  resigned,  and  only  said,  in  answer  to  her 
husband's  charges,  that  he  did  his  own  soul  injustice.  Her  inno- 
cence appeared  a  shield  from  which  his  shafts  glanced  off  harm- 
less. Unfortunately,  they  struck  me.  Some  sacrifice  to  his  rage 
was  necessary.  Richard  had  gone  too  quietly  ;  his  wife  was  too 
patient  under  the  stroke.  To  tear  her  heart,  he  resolved  that  I 
should  go  too.  This  was  the  third  great  blow  of  my  life.  But  it 
fell  naore  heavily  upon  me  than  either  my  father's  death  or  the 
separation  from  my  mother,  because  I  was  now  of  an  age  to  appre- 
ciate all  my  loss.  Another  such  mistress  did  not  exist  on  earth. 
I  was  once  more  a  slave.  I  was  young  ;  I  was  not  without  some 
personal  attractions  ;  I  wa's  at  the  mercy  of  whoever  might  pur- 
chase me.  Once  more  I  was  sold.  The  affair  was  concluded 
before  even  Mrs.  Graves  suspected  the  turn  her  husband's  ven- 
geance had  taken.  I  knew  nothing  of  it  until  the  morning  I  was 
carried  away.  At  the  announcement  of  my  fate,  I  fell  down  in 
a  swoon.  Ah,  Bertha  !  I  can  tell  you  nothing  of  the  agony  of 
that  day  ! " 

"  But  it  is  terrible,"  said  Bertha,  "  to  be  subject  to  the  caprices 
of  a  mean  and  revengeful  old  man  !  His  wife,  could  she  do  noth- 
ing for  you  ?  " 


CONFESSIONS.  365 


"  How  could  she  ?  Although  her  servant,  I  was  his  property. 
[  was  torn  from  her  arms,  .and  placed  in  a  close  carriage,  which 
Doro  me  away  from  her  forever.  My  new  owner  accompanied  me 
He  was  a  speculator,  who  had  been  for  a  few  days  at  New  Orleans 
transacting  business  with  Mr.  Graves.  He  was  taking  me  to  Mo- 
bile, I  can  only  describe  him  as  one  of  those  smooth,  pleasant 
men,  with  something  indefinably  bad  and  repulsive  in  their  na- 
tures, from  which  we  shrink  instinctively.  He  tried  to  cheer  me, 
by  telling  me,  gayly,  that  one  good  master  was  worth  forty  good 
mistresses,  for  a  handsome  young  girl  like  me.  We  reached  Mo- 
bile that  afternoon.  His  wife  met  us,  on  our  arrival.  She  was 
a  passionate  woman,  with  a  certain  plumpness  and  fairness  about 
her,  which  passed  with  many  for  beauty.  But  she  looked  any- 
thing but  beautiful  to  me  then.  '  For  heaven's  sake,  doctor  ! ' 
she  cried,  '  what  have  you  got  there  ?  '  '  Only  a  bit  of  a  specula- 
tion,' said  my  new  master,  with  a  laugh.  '  I  bought  her  for  seven 
hundred,'  he  added,  in  a  low  tone,  '  and  if  I  don't  get  twelve  for 
her  within  as  many  days,  I  '11  give  her  to  you.  You  shall  have 
that  new  shawl  the  day  I  get  her  off  my  hands.'  Ah,  Bertha ! 
you  never  knew  what  it  was  to  be  the  property  of  a  base  and 
selfish  man  !  No  law  to  protect  me  ;  no  friend  to  whom  I  could 
appeal ;  no  chance  or  hope  of  escape,  —  what  could  I  do  ?  IIo 
could  not  comprehend  how  a  person  in  my  condition  should  resist 
him  ;  and  the  longer  I  evaded  his  pursuit,  the  more  desperate  and 
determined  he  became.  At  length,  —  it  was  after  the  lapse  of 
several  months,  —  there  came  a  change.  0,  Bertha  !  if  I  had  the 
courage  to  draw  the  dark  picture  of  those  months  !  —  but  let 
them  pass ! 

"  Dr.  Tanwood  was  frequently  absent,  on  affairs  of  business  or 
pleasure ;  at  which  times  his  wife  was  in  the  habit  of  receiving 
visitors,  who  rarely  came  when  he  was  supposed  to  be  at  home, 
I  should  tell  you  that,  in  the  mean  while,  the  twelve  days  having 
long  since  elapsed  during  which  I  was  to  have  been  sold,  he  had 
gone  through  with  the  mockery  of  giving  me  to  his  wife.  She 
was  naturally  an  extravagant  and  luxurious  woman,  and  the  grat- 
ification of  having  me  to  dress  her,  and  wait  upon  her,  and  fan 
hor  as  she  lolled  upon  her  favorite  lounge,  had  partly  reconciled 
31* 


360  CONFESSIONS. 


her  to  my  presence.  One  day  she  sent  me  to  say  to  a  visitor,  v-  '.„ 
was  waiting  in  the  parlor,  that  she  would  be  with  him  iu  two  min- 
utes,—  which  meant  ten.  As  I  entered,  he  looked  at  me  strangely 
as  he  had  often  done  before,  —  for  he  had  been  frequently  at  the 
house,  —  and  as  I  was  retiring,  he  called  me  back.  I  asked  him 
what  he  would  have.  '  You  can  put  away  my  hat,'  said  he.  But. 
as  I  went  to  take  it,  he  held  it,  and  looked  up  in  my  face.  '  What 
is  your  name  ? '  '  Camille,'  said  I,  — '  people  call  me  Milly 
'  Camille,'  said  he,  '  I  am  a  northern  man.  There  is  something 
I  would  say  to  you,  if  I  dared.'  I  was  frightened  by  the  wild 
thoughts  that  rushed  through  my  brain.  '  You  understand  me,' 
he  said.  « Yes,'  I  answered  ;  « and  you  may  dare  to  say  any- 
thing ! '  '  Can  you  read  ? '  '  Yes.'  '  And  write  ? '  '  Yes.'  '  You 
have  heard  of  the  northern  states  ?  '  said  he.  «  The  free  states  ! ' 
I  answered.  '  Good  ! '  said  he.  « There  is  no  need  of  explana- 
tions. Go  now.  I  will  see  you  again.' 

"  I  ran  back  trembling  to  my  mistress.  She  was  dressing,  and 
scolded  me  for  leaving  her  so  long  alone.  I  assisted  her,  scarce 
knowing  what  I  did  ;  but  I  finished  the  task  without  exciting  her 
suspicions,  and  she  swept  into  the  parlor.  Presently  she  sum- 
moned me,  and  called  for  water  and  glasses.  '  For  Mr.  Roberts,' 
said  she,  languidly,  with  a  wave  of  her  fan,  as  I  reentered  with  a 
salver.  Mr.  Roberts  took  a  glass  and  handed  it  to  her ;  then 
taking  one  for  himself,  he  dropped  a  little  ball  of  paper  upon  the 
salver.  You  can  imagine  the  eagerness  with  which  I  unrolled  it, 
and  examined  its  contents,  the  moment  I  was  alone.  There  were 
four  lines,  written  with  a  pencil,  which  I  will  repeat,  if  I  have 
not  forgotten  them  : 

•  Would  ye  know  how  young  Ellen  deceived  the  old  couple  ? 

In  a  swate  little  billet,  directed  to  Pat, 
She  wrote  all  her  sorrow,  her  hopes,  and  her  trouble, 
And  pinned  it  one  night  in  the  crown  of  his  hat.' 

"  It  was  not  easy  to  forget  those  lines,  Bertha  !  I  thought  I 
discovered  in  Mr.  Roberts  a  generous  and  adventurous  spirit,  that 
might  be  of  infinite  service,  if  I  would  trust  him.  I  stole  pencil 
and  paper  from  the  doctor's  office,  and,  carrying  them  to  the  gar- 


CONFESSIONS.  367 


ret,  wrote  a  hurried  account  of  'poor  Ellen,'  who,  in  the  despair 
>f  her  state,  was  ready  to  adopt  any  measures  to  escape  from  the 
tyranny  of  the  aged  couple.  Had  the  note  actually  fallen  inlo 
my  mistress'  hands,  I  doubt  if  she  would  have  understood  it.  I 
think  she  was  not  even  aware  that  I  could  write.  But  it  did  not 
fall  into  her  hands.  I  secreted  it  in  the  lining  of  the  visitor's 
hat,  which  I  had  previously  placed  upon  the  hall-table.  Thus 
our  correspondence  began.  When  he  came  again,  I  found  another 
communication  where  I  had  placed  mine.  It  was  in  rhyme,  which 
he  appeared  to  have  a  talent  for  composing  ;  and  in  it  I  read,  with 
trembling  interest,  the  assurance  that  Patrick  O'llooney  would 
devise  speedy  means  for  the  deliverance  of  poor  Ellen. 

"  I  had  now  strong  hopes  of  escaping  from  my  precarious  situa- 
tion. It  was  time.  Irritated  by. my  constant  evasions,  the  doe- 
tor  had  threatened  to  sell  me  to  a  coarser  and  brutal  man,  whom 
he  brought  to  the  house  to  intimidate  me.  '  He  has  offered  a 
thousand  dollars  for  you/  said  he,  '  and  if  I  can't  tame  you,  he 
shall.  He  has  no  jealous  wife  to  stand  in  the  way.'  The  menace 
served  to  accelerate  the  crisis.  I  found  Mr.  Roberts  resolute  and 
ingenious.  Indeed,  his  extraordinary  audacity  alarmed  me  more 
than  once.  Sometimes  he  came  twice  the  same  day,  bringing  me 
messages  in  his  hat.  I  wondered  how  Mrs.  Tanwood  could 
avoid  seeing  that  his  visits  were  designed  for  me ;  but  she  was 
infatuated,  and  believed  that  she  had  charmed  him  to  that  point. 

"  On  one  occasion,  he  brought  an  acquaintance,  whom  he  in- 
troduced to  Mrs.  Tanwood.  Ah,  Bertha  !  it  is  with  strange  feel- 
ings that  I  recall  the  incidents  of  that  night !  The  acquaintance 
was  HKCTOR  !  How  well  I  remembered  him,  when  I  saw  him  for 
the  second  time  at  your  house,  there  on  the  hill !  " 

"You  had  seen  him,  then!"  exclaimed  Bertha.  "Tell 
about  it!" 

"  Indeed,  there  is  not  much  to  tell.  I  was  afraid  of  him,  and 
wished  him  away.  Mr.  Roberts  had  been  wise  enough  not  to 
call  his  attention  to  me  ;  it  seemed,  however,  when  I  met  him  at 
your  house,  that  my  features  were  fixed  in  his  memory,  and  that 
I  could  not  move  or  speak  without  danger  of  recognition.  Ono 
incident  I  thought  surely  would  recur  to  him,  at  sight  of  me, 


368  CONFESSIONS. 


Mr.  Roberts  brought  me  a  small  bundle  that  night,  which  I  Liad 
taken  from  his  hat,  and  concealed  in  a  barrel  in  the  garret,  dur- 
ing their  visit.-  On  going  away,  Hector  observed  his  friend's  hat, 
and  spoke  of  this  package.  '  ])o  you  take  me  for  a  lackey  ?  '  cried 
Mr.  Roberts,  with  a  laugh.  '  You  certainly  had  a  package,'  said 
Hector,  '  for  I  remarked  it  both  in  the  street  and  after  we  came 
in.'  My  mistress  called  me,  to  know  what  I  had  done  with  it. 
1  am  good  for  nothing  when  a  sudden  shock  comes  upon  me,  and 
coolness  and  self-possession  are  required  to  turn  aside  suspicion. 
I  trembled,  and  felt  my  cheek  change  color ;  but  before  I  had 
time  to  reply,  Mr.  Roberts  declared  that  it  was  a  joke  of  his 
friend's;  and  I  took  advantage  of  the  discussion  which  ensued, 
to  escape  from  observation." 

"  What  was  the  package  ?  "  asked  Bertha. 

"  It  contained  articles  destined  for  my  disguise  ;  I  had  been 
unable  to  get  them  myself,  and  Mr.  Roberts  had  engaged  to  pro- 
cure them  for  me.  I  need  not  iell  you  with  what  anxiety  I  now 
counted  the  days,  and  hours,  and  minutes.  At  last,  0,  Bertha  ! 
at  last  the  night  of  all  nights  in  my  life  was  at  hand  !  There 
was  so  much  depending  upon  the  secrecy  of  my  movements,  and 
such  fatality  might  topple  down,  like  an  avalanche,  at  the  touch 
of  the  slightest  accident,  that  I  prayed  continually  for  the  guidance 
of  a  power  above  my  own. 

"  For  some  weeks  I  had  been  accustomed  to  make  my  bed  on 
the  kitchen  floor  with  the  cook.  She  was  no  very  pleasant  com- 
panion ;  she  was  decrepit  and  cross  ;  more  than  that,  she  affected 
to  despise  and  hate  me,  because  I  was  white.  She  suspected,  how- 
ever, the  reasons  why  I  preferred  her  company  to  sleeping  in  a 
room  alone,  and  suffered  me  to  occupy  a  corner  of  her  dormitory. 
T  spread  out  my  bed  that  night,  and,  lying  down  as  usual,  pre 
tended  soon  to  be  fast  asleep.  She  was  in  a  grumbling  mood, 
and  talked  in  her  worst  style  for  over  an  hour ;  but  I  made  no 
reply  ;  and  at  length,  becoming  weary  of  her  muttered  soliloquy 
she  turned  over,  and  became  silent.  About  an  hour  later,  the 
doctor  came  home.  The  clock  had  just  struck  twelve.  I  heard 
him  enter  softly,  and  take  off  his  boots,  before  going  up  stairs 
Ha  had  reasons  for  not  wishing  to  disturb  his  wife  ;  and.  notwith 


CONFESSIONS.  36J) 


landing  all  that  had  passed,  he  still  entertained  hopes  of  finding 
•ne  in  the  garret.  I  listened  with  a  beating  heart ;  and,  after  a 
Vi'g  silence,  I  heard  his  stealthy  steps  again  on  the  stairs.  He 
cariw  to  the  kitchen,  and  spoke  to  me.  It  was  dark,  and  I  lay  still 
as  death,  hoping  that  he  would  go  away ;  but  there  was  nothing 
to  prevent  his  entering  the  room,  and  he  came  in,  on  tiptoe.  Mj 
only  resource  was  to  rouse  old  Juno,  and  I  shook  her  arm;  but 
her  sleep  was  so  heavy  that  I  could  not  awaken  her.  The  doctor 
attempted  to  take  me  from  her,  and  for  a  week  after  I  carried 
the  mark  of  his  hand  upon  my  arm.  The  struggle  awoke  the 
cook ;  I  was  saved.  After  the  doctor  was  gone,  she  lay  down 
again  in  her  corner,  chuckling  at  his  discomfiture.  It  was  not 
long  before  she  was  again  asleep,  and  all  was  still  in  the  house. 
My  great  fear  then  was  that  he  would  return ;  I  lay  listening  for 
hours.  At  three  o'clock,  hearing  no  sound,  I  got  up,  and  stole 
softly  from  the  kitchen.  His  oifice  was  on  the  same  floor.  His 
wife's  apartments  and  the  parlor  were  on  the  floor  above.  I  had 
to  pass  these  to  arrive  at  the  garret ;  but  first  I  took  the  precau- 
tion to  open  the  street  door.  After  waiting  some  time  to  ascertain 
that  no  one  was  disturbed,  I  ascended  the  stairs,  pausing  and 
listening  at  every  step. 

"  Well,  I  reached  the  garret,  and  all  was  still.  I  then  groped 
my  way  to  the  barrel,  where  I  had  concealed  my  disguise,  together 
with  a  candle,  necessary  in  making  my  toilet.  I  struck  a  light, 
and  proceeded  to  adjust  my  costume  before  a  fragment  of  glass 
stuck  against  the  wall.  I  had  an  old  and  faded  merino  dress, 
which  I  had  arranged  for  the  occasion.  The  articles  Mr.  Roberta 
brought  me  I  had  prepared  by  stealth,  and  they  were  all  ready  to 
put  on.  There  was  a  wig  of  gray  hair,  and  old-fashioned  specta- 
cles, with  colored  glasses ;  in  addition  to  which,  I  had  an  old 
woman's  cap,  and  a  bonnet  that  shaded  my  face.  The  most  diffi- 
cult thing  of  all  was  to  color  my  complexion,  to  give  it  that 
wrinkled  appearance  characteristic  of  old  age.  But  this  I  had 
already  done  once  before,  to  give  Mrs.  Graves  an  evening's  enter- 
tainment ;  and  had,  at  that  time,  succeeded  so  well,  even  in 
deceiving  the  membors  of  the  house,  that  I  felt  confidence  in  adopt- 
ing the  disguise  for  a  more  serious  adventure. 


370  CONFESSIONS. 


"  At  length  all  was  arranged  ;  and,  looking  in  the  glass,  I  was 
half  frightened  at  the  image  that  met  my  view.  It  was  no  longer 
myself,  but  a  veritable  old  woman.  So  far,  all  was  well ;  but,  U. 
Bertha,  so  much  yet  remained  to  be  done  !  I  had  first  to  desoonu 
the  stairs,  with  a  small  bundle  of  clothes  in  one  hand,  and  my 
shoes  in  the  other,  pausing  and  listening  at  every  step,  as  before. 
But  I  will  not  dwell  upon  that ;  you  can  imagine  my  feelings,  at 
such  a  time.  I  succeeded  in  passing  the  hall,  —  then  how  glad  I 
was  that  I  had  taken  the  precaution  to  leave  the  door  ajar !  I 
glided  into  the  street,  and  put  on  my  shoes.  The  city  lay  around 
me,  like  a  wilderness,  so  silent  and  deserted  that  the  sound  of  ray 
own  footsteps  startled  me.  The  stars  were  just  beginning  to  wane 
befure  the  light  of  day.  On  the  corner,  where  I  expected  to  meet 
my  friend  and  guide,  I  encountered  three  or  four  intoxicated  men, 
who  accosted  me,  and  refused  to  let  me  pass,  until  I  had  answered 
their  tipsy  questions.  I  dared  not  cry  for  help  ;  for  I  knew  not 
which  most  to  fear,  them,  or  the  city  watchmen.  Fortunately,  at 
this  crisis,  Mr.  Roberts  appeared,  and  rescued  me  from  their 
hands.  I  got  away,  and  hastened  along  the  street.  In  a  little 
while  he  rejoined  me ;  then  first  I  felt  that  I  was  safe  ;  but  he  had 
bad  news  to  tell  me,  which  left  me  little  time  to  rejoice.  He  bad 
engaged  the  captain  of  a  merchant  ship,  whom  he  had  interestec 
in  my  behalf,  to  carry  me  to  New  York.  His  vessel  lay  down  the 
bay,  and  he  was  to  send  a  boat  at  daybreak,  to  take  me  on  board. 
The  evening  previous,  however,  he  had  sent  word,  at  a  late  hour, 
that  the  day  of  sailing  was  postponed,  —  which  Mr.  lloberts  had 
not  received  in  season  to  communicate  to  me.  But  he  told  me 
not  to  be  discouraged.  '  Of  course,'  said  he,  'you  are  not  anxious 
to  go  back.1  Go  back  !  I  did  not  know  what  would  tempt  me  to 
go  through  again  what  I  had  that  night  suffered!  'Well,'  said 
he,  '  the  sooner  you  aro  out  of  the  city,  the  better.  There  arc 
oyster-boats  going  down  the  river  at  all  hours  of  the  morning,  and 
I  see  no  reason  why  one  of  them  cannot  be  engaged  to  put  you  on 
board  the  Manhattan.'  We  reached  the  riVcr,  and,  walking  along 
the  wharves,  found  two  men  preparing  to  push  off.  My  companion 
addressed  them;  but  he  did  not -like  their  appearance;  and,  foi 
my  part,  I  Mas  afraid  to  trust  myself  alone  in  their  charge." 


CONFESSIONS.  371 


•'  JXlr.  Roberts  was  not  going  with  you,  then?  "  said  Bertha. 

•  0,  no  ;  — but  I  will  tell  you  about  that.  Near  by,  we  saw 
an  eld  man  and  a  boy,  also  on  the  point  of  setting  out  for  the 
oyster-banks  ;  and  Mr.  Roberts  proceeded  to  make  a  bargain  for  my 
passage,  '  She  is  a  poor  old  woman,'  said  he,  '  whose  son  has  run 
away,  and  she  wan's  to  catch  him  before  he  sails.'  —  The  regret, 
anxiety,  joy,  —  0,  Bertha  !  you  can  imagine  what  I  felt  as  I  took 
leave  of  him,  and  stepped  into  the  boat.  He  remained  standing 
upon  the  wharf;  the  old  man  pushed  off;  a  light  wind  filled  the 
sail,  and  in  a  few  moments  the  only  friend  I  then  had  in  the  wide 
world  was  lost  to  sight. 

"  The  sun  was  near  two  hours'  high  when  we  approached  the 
Fleet,  as  it  is  called;  and  the  old  man  pointed  out  to  me  the  Man- 
hattan, riding  at  anchor  in  the  bay.  We  had  a  good  breeze  ;  and 
in  a  little,  while  we  sailed  alongside.  My  heart  stood  still  when 
the  old  man  hailed  for  the  captain.  The  reply  came  that  he  was 
ashore,  and  would  not  come  on  board  until  ten  o'clock.  I  was 
greatly  alarmed  at  tljis ;  but,  fortunately,  I  was  recognized  by  the 
mate,  who  was  in  the  secret,  and  received  on  board.  The  old  man 
aud  his  son  were  sent  away,  and  I  was  conducted  to  the  state- 
room secured  for  me.  0,  when  the  door  was  shut,  and  I  was 
alone,  —  and  safe,  —  0,  Bertha,  how  my  full  heart  overflowed  in 
prayers  and  tears  !  I  lay  down  in  my  berth  ;  and  I  was  so 
exhausted  and  weary  that  I  soon  fell  asleep.  A  rap  at  my  door 
awakened  me.  I  was  foolish  enough  to  be  frightened,  imagining 
that  my  master  had  come ;  but  presently  I  summoned  courage, 
and  turned  back  the  bolt.  A  bronzed,  bright,  benevolent  fate 
looked  in  upon  me :  it  was  the  captain,  whom  I  knew  at  once  as  a 
friend.  He  assured  me  that  the  vessel  would  sail  on  the  following 
day,  and,  on  hearing  my  story,  offered  to  bet  heavy  sums  that  no- 
body would  think  of  looking  for  me  on  board  his  ship. 

"  I  was  more  grateful  than  my  words  could  express.  The  day 
and  night  dragged  slowly,  but,  (),  I  was  patient,  Bertha,  and  my 
heart  was  full  of  a  new  joy.  I  was  free  !  At  last  the  time  of 
sailing  arrived  ;  what,  then,  was  my  surprise,  on  receiving  a  visit 
from  Mr.  Roberts !  I  was  still  more  surprised  to  learn  that  he 
had  come  on  board  with  his  baggage,  resolved  upon  making  the 


372  CONFESSIONS. 


voyage  with  me  !  Then,. Bertha,  I  began  to  have  a  clearer  i»>i -ht 
into  the  heart  of  that  man.  He  had  intended  going  with  me  fv^r: 
the  first." 

"  Why  had  he  deceived  you?  " 

"  Before  my  escape,  he  had  expressed,  in  one  of  his  notes, 
sentiments  which  I  disliked ;  and  I  had  replied  that  if  such  wero 
his  motives  in  assisting  me,  I  must  decline  those  services  wtiich 
I  could  not  repay  in  the  manner  he  seemed  to  anticipate.  He 
was  not  a  man  I  could  ever  regard  otherwise  than  as  a  friend, 
and  I  told  him  so.  He  denied  the  motives  I  imputed  to  him  ; 
but,  Bertha,  when  we  met  on  board  the  ship,  I  could  no  longer 
shut  my  ears  against  a  truth  which  had  been  whispered  to  me  con- 
tinually. I  had  charged  my  heart  with  ingratitude  and  injustice, 
and  refused  to  believe  what  it  said.  Now,  however,  it  was  but  too 
plainly  revealed.  Selfishness  was  the  mainspring  of  his  conduct, 
and  all  that  he  had  done  for  me  was  marred. 

"  Once  at  sea,  I  abandoned  my  disguise,  and  often  appealed 
upon  deck  with  no  other  attempt  at  conceajment  than  a  simple 
veil  thrown  over  my  face.  When  off  the  coast  of  Florida,  we  had 
fine  breezes,  the  sea  was  surpassingly  beautiful,  and  the  sky  was 
of  a  clear,  deep,  heavenly  blue,  which  filled  my  soul  with  wonder 
and  joy.  There  was  but  one  cloud  above  my  horizon.  It  ap- 
peared in  the  form  of  Mr.  Roberts.  One  day,  to  escape  him,  I 
retreated  to  my  room  ;  but  he  followed  me,  and,  by  an  unworthy 
stratagem,  succeeded  in  gaining  admittance.  We  were  the  only 
passengers,  and  the  sole  occupants  of  the  cabin  at  the  time  ;  and 
I  was  in  his  power.  As  an  excuse  for  his  violence,  he  had  the  base- 
ness to  remind  me  of  what  I  owed  to  him,  arid  to  charge  me  with 
ingratitude.  '  It  is  true,'  said  I,  '  I  owe  you  my  liberty,  and  in 
return  I  will  give  you  my  life.' — I  said  this  despairingly,  for  I 
was  ready  to  die.  He  declared  impetuously  that  I  was  wrong  to 
speak  so ;  for  it  was  only  my  love  he  sought.  'But,'  said  I, 
'  your  approach  will  kill  me  !  I  give  you  that  warning.' 

"  I  no  longer  held  him  from  me ;  but,  as  he  caught  me  in  his 
arms,  he  felt  a  hard  substance  strike  him.  Starting  aside,  he 
caught  the  glimpse  of  a  knife-handle,  and  thought  I  h;n!  stnU-d 


COIN  SESSIONS.  6t6 

him ;  but,  as  he  released  me,  I  fell  back  j  and  then  he  saw  that 
the  blade  was  in  my  own  breast." 

"  You  had  stabbed  yourself !  " 

"  No,  Bertha.  But  I  had  placed  the  kn'fe  between  us.  It  was 
one  I  had  borrowed  of  the  captain  on  some  pretence  ;  the  blade 
was  brDad  and  sharp ;  but,  fortunately,  the  point  had  become 
entangled  in  my  handkerchief,  in  which  I  held  it  concealed.  I 
suffered  from  a  deathly  faintness ;  but  I  did  not  quite  lose  my 
consciousness  at  any  moment  :  I  placed  my  handkerchief  upon  tr? 
wound,  to  stop  the  blood,  and  entreated  Mr.  Roberts,  with  all  my 
remaining  force,  to  have  mercy  upon  me,  and  leave  me.  Over- 
come with  horror  and  remorse,  he  fell  upon  his  knees,  and  prayed 
to  be  forgiven,  and  to  be  permitted  to  .atone  for  his  wrong.  He 
hastened  to  bring  me  linen  from  his  trunk ;  but  I  locked  the  door, 
and  would  not  let  him  return.  Afterwards,  when  I  was  stronger, 
1  washed  and  dressed  the  wound  myself,  and  left  nature  to  do  the 
rest.  I  appealed  to  the  captain  for  protection,  and  found  in  him 
a  genuine,  hearty  friend.  As  the  voyage  approached  its  termina- 
tion, ne  asKea  me  wnat  i  orooosea  to  no  on  mv  arrival  at  New 
York.  I  showed  him  a  letter  which  Mr.  Roberts  had  previously 
given  me  to  a  person  in  that  city,  who,  he  said,  would  assist  Lne 
in  reaching  Canada.  '  But,  since  he  is  with  me.'  said  I,  '  I  no 
longer  know  what  to  do. 

"  How  well  he  managed,  you  will  know,  when  I' tell  you  that, 
on  arriving  at  New  York,  I  was  taken  secretly  from  his  ship,  tit 
night,  and  placed  on  board  a  sloop,  bound  up  the  North  River. 
He  had,  by  chance,  met  a  skipper  of  his  acquaintance,  who  was  to 
sail  with  the  first  wind,  and  who  promised  to  land  me  in  Albany, 
free  of  expense.  How  fortune  seemed  to  favor  me,  Bertha  !  I 
was  on  my  way  to  Canada,  before  Mr.  Roberts  knew  I  had  left 
the  ship. 

"  AS  I  was  travelling  alone,  I  had  followed  Captain  Damon's 
prudent  counsel,  and  resumed  my  disguise.  '  An  old  woman,'  he 
said,  '  will  get  along  much  better  among  a  certain  class  of  people 
than  a  young  girl.'  I  had  had  experience  enough  to  believe  him. 
He  put  into  my  hands  a  letter  for  a  brother  of  his  at  Whitehall, 
which  he  said  was  directly  on  my  route,  assuring  me  that,  on  its- 


5>7  4  CONFESSIONS. 

delivery,  I  would  find  a  friend  to  forward  me  safely  upon  1117 
journey.  Two  days  after  quitting  the  Manhattan,  I  was  landed 
at  Albany,  as  the  skipper  had  promised.  But  he  did  not  leave 
me  until  he  hud  placed  me  on  board  a  boat  bound  for  Whitehall, 
and  made  a  bargain  for  my  passage,  which  I  paid  with  money 
Captain  Damon  had  given  me  for  the  purpose.  Thus  far  I 
had  played  my  part  so  well  that  no  person,  not  even  the  skipper, 
suspected  that  my  age  was  less  than  three  score." 

"  I  cannot  conceive  how  you  could  do  it !  "  said  Bertha. 

"  It  was  not  so  difficult  as  you  imagine.  People  do  not  scru- 
tinize old  women.  I  pretended  to  have  a  catarrh,  which  obliged 
me  to  wear  my  bonnet ;  then  I  dressed  to  disguise  my  form,  and 
wore  old  gloves  upon  my  hand;?.  I  experienced  more  difficulty  in 
managing  the  tones  of  my  voice  than  in  all  the  rest.  But  I  have 
a  respectable  talent  at  mimicry,  and  succeeded  even  in  that; 
although,  I  fancy,  people  must  have  thought  me  exceedingly  quiet 
for  an  old  lady.  Few,  I  think,  ever  felt  less  ambition  to  talk  ! 

"  Everything  happened  favorably  until  my  arrival  at  Whitehall, 
when:  to  my  consternation,  I  learned  that  Captain  Damon's 
brother  had  removed  into  the  country,  on  account  of  ill-health. 
As  I  had  no  means  of  getting  to  Canada  without  assistance,  I 
obtained  his  address,  and  set  out  on  foot,  the  same  evening,  to 
ficd  him. 

"  I  had  not'gonc  far  before  I  ascertained  that  the  distance  was 
much  greater  than  I  had  suspected.  I  walked  four  miles  that 
night,  and  stopped  to  rest  at  a  farm-house.  I  was  allowed  to 
sleep  in  the  barn,  and  invited  to  brwkfust  on  the  following 
morning.  I  had  no  appetite;  but,  to  guard  against  future 
hunger,  I  forced  myself  to  eat  a  morsel,  and,  thanking  them 
hastily,  took  my  leave.  This  house  proved  to  be  that  of  Mr. 
Jackwood's  brother-in-law,  in  Sawnoy  Hook  ;  it  was  there  I  first 
made  the  acquaintance  of  grandmother  Rigglesty. 

"  I  was  now  among  the  mountains,  in  the  midst  of  new  and 
surprising  scenery.  I  walked  far,  in  the  cool  of  the  day ;  when  I 
became  tired,  I  sat  down  on  the  roadside,  and  listened  to  the 
singing  of  the  birds.  I  cannot  tell  you  how  much  I  enjoyed  that 
morning !  Hope  and  freedom  inspired  me  ;  but  hope  and  free- 


CONFESSIONS.  373 


dom  did  not  pre*  nt  my  becoming  faint  and  weary,  long  before 
noon.  But,  as  I  was  fast  approaching  the  house  I  was  in  search 
of,  I  kept  on,  and  arrived  in  sight  of  it  at  about  one  o'clock.  I 
was  alarmed  to  find  a  number  of  carriages  at  the  fence,  and  a 
group  of  solemn  people  near  the  door.  Presently  a  coffin  wap 
brought  out,  and  placed  in  a  wagon ;  then  the  people  began  to  get, 
into  their  carriages,  and  a  procession  was  formed. 

"  I  sat  down  upon  a  stone  by  the  road,  and  waited  for  the 
funeral  to  pass.  Presently  two  men  came  out  on  foot,  and  stopped 
to  talk  near  the  place  where  I  sat.  I  inquired  if  that  was  Mr. 
Damon's  house. 

"  '  That  was  Charles  Damon's  house,'  one  of  them  replied,  '  but 
he  has  moved.'  I  was  so  disturbed  at  this  that  I  could  scarcely 
speak,  to  ask  where  he  had  gone.  '  He  has  just  gone  down  the 
road,'  the  man  said.  '  You  will  find  his  new  house  in  the  grave- 
yard just  over  the  hill.  It  is  a  house  of  but  one  story,  and  that 
is  built  under  ground.' 

"  I  was  trying  to  collect  my  thoughts,  and  wondering  what  I 
should  do,  when  the  men  began  to  discuss  an  item  of  news  which 
frightened  me  so  much  that  I  quite  forgot  the  funeral.  They 
spoke  of  the  fugitive-slave  law,  and  of  some  slave-hunters,  who,  as 
I  understood  them,  had  recently  arrived  in  town.  '  For  my  part,' 
said  one,  '  I  hope  they  will  put  the  law  in  force,  and  carry  back 
every  fugitive  this  side  of  Canada.  I  '11  help  them,  if  I  'm  called 
upon.'  I  waited  until  the  men  went  away ;  then,  rising  to  my 
feet,  set  out  to  walk  as  fast  as  I  could  down  the  road.  I  after- 
wards learned  that  the  slave-hunters  alluded  to  were  probably 
some  who  about  that  time  visited  a  town  in  the  State  of  New 
York  ;  but,  in  my  panic,  I  imagined  them  in  full  pursuit  of  me. 
I  took  by-roads,  and  travelled  on  and  on,  keeping  a  northerly 
direction,  but  with  no  definite  purpose  in  view,  until  I  found 
myself  on  a  wild  mountain-side,  and  the  path  I  had  followed 
became  lost  in  a  gloomy  forest.  My  courage  failed.  I  had  eaten 
nothing  since  morning,  and  there  was  danger  of  perishing  in  the 
woods.  But,  looking  off  upon  the  valley,  I  saw  houses  and  farms, 
and,  weary  as  I  was,  I  began  to  descend  the  mountain.  I  crossed 
H  steep  rasture-land,  full  of  rooks  aud  thidtles,  among  which  I 


376  CONFESSIONS. 


slipped  and  fell,  until  I  was  so  overcome  with  pain  and  exhaus- 
tion that  sometimes  I  could  scarce  rise  again  to  my  feet.  But 
the  valley  lay  before,  and  it  seemed  to  me  that  on  reaching  the 
meadows  I  would  find  less  difficulty  in  proceeding,  they  looked  so 
smooth,  and  green,  and  cool !  I  drank  at  a  clear  brook,  that 
leaped  plashing  and  singing  along  the  mountain-side;  and,  feeling 
slightly  rested  and  refreshed,  kept  on  down  the  slope.  On 
reaching  the  low  land,  however,  I  found  the  grass  an  unexpected 
obstacle ;  and  as  I  proceeded  it  became  ranker,  deeper,  and 
thicker,  at  every  step,  until  I  sank  down  in  utter  helplessness  and 
despair.  But  night  was  setting  in,  a  storm  was  gathering  and 
blackening,  and  I  made  a  final  effort  to  reach  an  old  barn  that 
stood  not  far  off  in  the  valley.  I  came  to  a  stream  hedged  with 
willows  and  vines,  and,  as  I  was  searching  for  an  opening  in  the 
bushes,  I  discovered  a  bridge.  I  had  hardly  crossed,  when  a 
dizziness  seized  me,  and  I  fainted,  within  a  dozen  yards  of  the 
barn.  On  recovering  my  consciousness,  I  heard  a  shout,  and 
exerted  myself  to  answer  it.  It  was  Mr.  Jackwood  calling  Abim- 
clech,  who  was  lost  in  the  meadow. 

"  I  feel  too  weak,  Bertha,"  said  Camille,  for  so  we  now  must 
call  her,  "  to  tell  you  more  to-day.  I  have  made  a  long  and 
tedious  story.  But  another  time  you  shall  hear  more  of  Mr 
lloberts  —  " 

"  And  Hector,"  said  Bertha,  —  "  how  were  you  married  t  He 
had  left  you  once  !  " 

"  ies,  when  I  told  him  my  history.  But  his  love,"  said 
Camille,  with  a  glorious  smile,  "  his  love  was  great  as  his  soul ! 
He  came  back,  and  claimed  me  as  his  wife." 

Bertha  covered  her  face.  "  Happy,  happy  wife  !  God  bless 
y  ^u  !  "  and  she  sobbed  upon  Camille's  bosom. 


XLIL 

THE    WILDERNESS 

I  KNOW  not  what  discontent  gnawed  Mr.  Dunbury's  heart.  If 
the  same  that  tortured  him  during  his  illness,  and  before  the  loss 
of  Canaille,  it  had  since  become  intensified  to  an  insupportable 
degree.  By  day  his  brow  lowered  with  fiercest  gloom.  By 
night  he  groaned  and  gnashed  his  teeth  in  sleep.  "0,  God  !  0, 
God  !  0,  God !  "  he  would  sometimes  cry  out,  in  his  anguish. 
His  invalid  wife  was  witness  to  these  outbursts.  Although 
lying  almost  at  the  brink  of  the  grave,  —  although  her  soul,  hov- 
oring  'twixt  life  and  death,  seemed  only  to  linger  that  it  might 
pray  for  those  she  loved  until  the  end,  —  her  heart  was  moved 
with  compassion  for  her  husband ;  and,  to  quench  the  fires  of  his 
remorse,  to  soothe  and  soften  him,  she  would  have  imparted  to 
him  the  secret  of  Camille's  rescue.  But  only  once  had  she  the 
power  to  approach  the  subject  —  to  mention  Camille's  name.  He 
tore  himself  fiercely  from  her.  "Away  !  "  he  cried.  "  The  fires 
of  hell  are  in  me  !  " 

One  day  he  heard  the  vague  rumor  of  a  drowned  body  being 
discovered,  some  miles  below,  at  a  place  that  had  been  flooded  by 
the  recent  freshet.  Although  scarce  able  as  yet  to  ride,  he 
mounted  his  horse,  and  spurred  with  speed  to  the  scene  of  the 
excitement.  The  rumor  proved  well-founded.  A  frozen  corpse 
had  been  brought  in  from  the  interval.  But  it  was  the  corpse 
of  a  man.  Mr.  Dunbury  recognized  the  lunatic,  Edward  Long- 
man. 

The  friends  of  the  deceased  were   advised  of  the  event.     Mr. 
Longman  and  his  daughter-in-law  came  from  Canada  ;    and  the 
funeral  was  attended  in  Mr.  Dunbury's  house. 
32* 


378  THE   WILDER^  ESb. 


In  the  midst  of  the  ceremony,  a  rider  arrived  upon  a  reeking 
and  foaming  horse,  and,  flinging  himself  down  at  the  gate, 
appeared  abruptly  before  the  astonished  company.  "  Hector  !  " 
articulated  Mrs.  Dunbury,  reaching  out  her  arms. 

He  was  pale  and  stern  of  look.  He  heeded  her  not.  He 
strode  to  the  coflfin ;  he  gazed  on  the  face  of  the  dead.  The 
invalid,  feeble  as  she  was,  rose  up,  white  and  ghost-like,  from  her 
ccuoh,  and  tottered  to  his  sidt  !  "  My  son  !  Hector !  speak  to  me  ! 
This  is  poor  Edward,  who  was  drowned.  Charlotte  —  " 

"  Ay,  where  is  she  ?  "  said  Hector's  hollow  voice.  He  turned 
upon  his  father :  his  look  was  terrible.  "  At  your  hands  i 
demand  my  wife  !  " 

Mr.  Dunbury  stood  speechless;  the  relations  looking  on  with 
consternation.  Still  the  invalid  clung  to  Hector,  whose  soul 
knew  her  not.  The  clergyman,  a  mild  and  formal  man,  stepped 
forward. 

"  Have  respect  for  the  dead  !  " 

"  'T  is  not  my  dead  !  "  said  Hector.  "  At  your  hands,  sir,"  he 
repeated,  standing  before  his  father,  "  I  demand  my  wife  !  " 

"  I  do  not  know  her  !  "  broke  forth  Mr.  Dunbury. 

"  You  DID  NOT  know  her  !  "  answered  Hector.  "  And  it  were 
better  for  your  soul  had  your  eyes  never  beheld  her  !  The  dove 
to  whom  you  refused  shelter,  the  lamb  you  drove  out  to  the 
wolves  —  my  wife,  whom  your  cruelty  killed  —  I  require  her  life 
at  your  hands  !  " 

"  This  —  this  is  strange  language  to  address  to  me,  sir  !  " 
gasped  the  father. 

"  It  is  strange  language !  Would  to  God  I  had  never  lived  to 
epeak  it,  or  you  to  hear  it !  O,  were  you  NOT  my  father  !  " 

'  .My  son  !  my  child  !  "  uttered  the  invalid,  "  listen  a  moment, 
I  beseech  you!  Charlotte  —  you  have  not  heard  all  —  you  have 
not  heard  aright  —  " 

"  I  have  heard !  My  father  —  MY  FATHKR  —  thrust  her  forth  ! 
It  is  the  village  talk.  With  his  curse  she  went !  Her  blood  is 
upon  his  hands  !  My  wife  !  my  wife  !  my  wife  !  0,  God  !  con- 
trol ray  soul ! " 

Covering  his  face,  he  rushed  from  the  room,  his  mother  crying 


THE    WILDERJN'EbS  379 


out  to  him,  and  clasping  his  neck.  Still  he  knew  her  not,  or 
heard  not,  or  heeded  not.  But,  at  one  thrilling  word  her  tonguo 
pronounced,  he  started,  and  gazed  at  her 

"  Mother  !  did  you  say  —  " 

"  Lives !  "  she  exclaimed,  with  exalted  emotion 

"  Lives !     Charlotte  !  is  it  true  ?  "~ 

"  My  son,  it  is  heavenly  true  !  " 

"  Where  ?  speak  at  once ! "  As  soon  as  she  could  gather 
breath,  the  invalid  told  the  tale.  "  0,  mother !  "  said  Hector, 
with  bursting  joy,  "the  word  is  worth  a  hundred  thousand 
worlds !  She  lives ! " 

He  sprang  from  her  arms ;  he  leaped  upon  his  horse,  and  rode 
northward  with  furious  speed.  When  once  more  he  drew  rein 
and  flung  himself  from  the  saddle,  it  was  at  the  door  of  Mr. 
llukely's  house. 

A  beautiful  snow-storm  speckled  the  heavens,  and  whitened 
all  the  ground.  At  the  window  of  her  room  sat  Camille,  gazing 
out  upon  the  wondrous  phenomenon  of  the  northern  winter. 
Slowly,  steadily,  and  one  by  one,  the  white  flakes  came  fluttering 
down ;  each  falling  and  settling  softly  in  its  place,  forming,  one 
vast  white  robe  of  ermine  for  the  earth.  And  she  was  thinking 
how  insignificant  in  itself  seemed  each  feathery  speck,  yet  how 
necessary  all  to  complete  nature's  fair  device,  and  fulfil  her  wise 
design.  One  went  to  ridge  the  rails  of  the  olden  fence  ;  another 
was  lost  in  the  infinity  of  the  fields ;  another  joined  the  busy 
swarm  that  clustered  on  limb,  and  branch,  and  sm*lle«t  ouiv. 
ering  twig,  of  the  apple-tree  ;  another  fell  by  the  kitchen,  nnd  was 
trodden  under  foot.  She  called  liie  snow  HUMANITV,  and  Jock,  u 
up  in  the  cloud  to  find  a  representation  of  herself.  She  choto.  \>t 
chance,  one  minute  speck  from  among  the  millions  that  darkened 
the  air:  watched  its  slow  increase,  ay  it  approached  the  earth; 
saw  it  assume  the  spangled  angles  of  a  fair  light  flake,  and  sink 
gently,  steadily  —  into  the  well !  She  was  wondering  what  it 
meant;  whether  the  well  was  death,  or  the  bosom  and  source  of 
all  humanity,  or  the  heart  of  one,  when  the  door  of  the  chamber 
was  tbiown  suddenly  open,  and  Bertha  rushed  in.  Her  spooch 


b&O  TUE    WiLDEKNESS. 


was  incoherent ;  but  her  looks,  her  confused,  hurried  words,  wen 
but  too  full  of  meaning. 

"  I  don't  know  who  it  can  be  !  "  said  Bertha.  "  I  heard  the 
bell  ring ;  I  listened  —  mother  was  at  the  door  —  a  voice 
demanded  you ! " 

"  Perhaps,''  faltered  Canaille's  pale  lips,  "  perhaps  it  is  a 
friend  !  0,  if  it  were  —  Hector  !  " 

"  I  will  know  !  "  exclaimed  Bertha,  agitated  betwixt  hope  and 
fear.  Camille  listened,  as  Bertha  disappeared ;  heard  eager 
voices  approaching  presently,  and  a  man's  tread  on  the  stairs. 
The  door  opened  again.  Bertha  flew  in.  She  was  followed  by  — 
Robert  Greenwich  ! 

Marble  cold  with  despair,  Camille  sank  down  upon  the  pillows 
of  the  arm-chair,  fixing  her  icy  looks  upon  the  comer, 

"  You  are  discovered  !  "  uttered  Bertha.  "  He  has  come  to 
warn  you  —  to  save  you  !  " 

"  HE  !  "  repeated  Camille,  with  a  shudder. 

"  Even  I ! "  said  Robert,  with  looks  intense  and  haggard. 
"  For  God's  sake,  waste  not  a  moment  or  a  word !  I  thought 
you  dead.  In  that  thought  I  have  suffered  more  than  death  i 
—  a  thousand  deaths  !  Believe  me,  for  your  own  sake  !  I  arn 
in  the  confidence  of  the  southern  agents  ;  they  are  on  your  track  ; 
I  have  but  five  minutes  the  start  of  them.  In  five  minutes  it 
will  be  too  late !  " 

"  0,  Camille  !  "  said  Bertha,  "  why  do  you  doubt !  Surely  bo 
is  your  frioTid  !  " 

"  If  i  have  an  enemy  m  the  whole  world,"  said  Camille,  "  it  Is 
he !  He  stands  in  my  sight  for  all  that  is  false  and  black  in 
humanity !  " 

"  How  ?  —  0,  no  —  "  began  Bertha. 

"  I  told  you  of  Mr.  Roberts,"  interposed  Camille,  firm  in  her 
very  despair.  "  I  told  you  not  half!  Mr.  Roberts  and  Robert 
Greenwich  are  the  same.  Tell  me,  is  he  to  be  trusted  ?  " 

Bertha  wae  struck  dumb  with  this  announcement. 

"  Do  not  make  me  worse  than  I  am  !  "  said  Robert ;  "  for,  as 
I  have  wronged  you,  all  I  live  for  now  is  to  make  atonement. 
YO-H  ""Pusal  nriU  bo  to  vour  own  ruin,  and  tri  my  ctenri'  Jesnair. 


THE    WILDERNESS.  381 


I  have  a  swift  horse  at  the  door ;  I  can  take  you  to  a  placo  of 
safety.  If  you  are  found  here,  nothing  can  save  you !  No 
money,  no  influence,  no  law  —  " 

"  Tell  us,"  cried  Bertha,  "  how  she  has  been  discovered." 

"  By  a  bribe.     Dickson  fell  in  with  Mr.  Crumlett  —  " 

"  0,  Matilda  !  "  Bertha  cried  out,  "  it  is  what  I  feared  !  " 

"  Since  you  required  proof,"  said  Robert,  "  I  have  betray.  J.  tb-; 
betrayer.  How  can  you  doubt  ?  " 

"I  do  not  doubt,"  answered  Camille,  faintly.  "  But  1  will  stay, 
and  meet  my  fate." 

"  Think  of  Hector  !  "  pleaded  Bertha. 

"  O,  Hector  !  "  —  Camille's  strength  gave  way ;  she  wrung  her 
hands.  —  "But  what  can  I  do?  " 

"  P]scape  !  "  And  Bertha  began  hurriedly  to  wrap  her  in  tip- 
pets and  shawls.  "  I  know  that  you  can  trust  him ;  I  know  that 
he  is  sincere.  —  0,  if  Mr.  Rukely  would  come  !  " 

"  Do  with  me  as  you  will !  My  mind  is  weak  as  my  frame ! 
But  —  do  you  go  with  me,  Bertha  !  " 

"  Be  sure  I  will  stay  by  you." 

"  O,  sir ! "  and  Camille  turned  her  despairing  eyes  on  Robert, 
<;  if  it  is  in  your  heart  to  deceive  me  now,  do  but  look  upon  me  — 
consider  what  you  do  !  " 

He  looked  upon  her,  —  so  pale,  so  frail  and  helpless ;  and  if 
there  was  treachery  in  his  heart,  and  had  that  heart  been  anything 
but  stone,  it  must  have  relented  then.  But  neither  by  word  nor 
look  did  he  evince  any  but  the  sincerest  emotions.  There  was  a 
Bible  on  the  stand ;  he  seized  it,  and  took  oath  thereupon  to  be 
henceforth  truth  itsalf,  in  all  his  dealings  with  her  whom  he  had 
so  wronged.  He  wished  to  carry  Camille  down  stairs  in  his  arms. 
But  she  would  not  suffer  him.  With  the  help  of  Bertha  and  Mrs. 
Wing,  she  reached  the  door.  "  And  you,  Bertha?" 

"  I  had  forgotten  !  "  said  Bertha. 

"  A  moment's  delay  may  ruin  all !  "  said  Robert. 

Bertha  ran  for  her  bonnet  and  cloak.  Camille  had  suffered 
herself  to  be  placed  in  the  cutter,  and  wrapped  in  its  robes.  Rob- 
ert leaped  in.  Bertha  did  not  appear. 

"We  cannot  wait!"     The  horse  sprang.     Camille  uttered  a 


382  THE   WILDERNESS. 


cry;  she  turned  her  feeble  head,  and  looked  baok  imploring  y. 
there  stood  the  wondering  old  lady ;  then  Bertha  ran  hurriedly 
Iroin  the  house.  It  was  too  late.  The  gate  was  passed ;  the 
cutter  flew  over  the  ground  ;  and  the  white  storm  settled  down 
between  Camille  and  the  only  haven  of  safety  she  knew  in  the 
wide  world. 

A  rash  and  hasty  step;  in  avoiding  an  uncertain  danger,  t3 
rush  into  the  very  face  of  a  certain  one !  So  thought  Bertha, 
after  Camille  was  gone.  And  Bertha,  wild  with  excitement,  ac- 
cused herself  as  of  some  unpardonable  crime.  In  her  agitation 
she  ran  out  to  find  Matilda,  who  had  gone  to  do  an  errand  in  the 
village.  She  met  Miss  Fosdick  hurrying  home  through  the 
storm. 

"What  is  it?"  cried  Matilda.  "I'm  sure  as  I  ever  was  of 
anything  in  my  life  that  Charlotte  Woods  was  in  the  cutter  that 
just  passed !  " 

"  She  was !  "  uttered  Bertha.  "And  you  —  you —  Matilda — 
why  did  you  tell  that  she  was  here  ?  " 

"  I,  tell !  "  echoed  Matilda.  "  I  never  did  !  I  hope  to  die !  I 
never  lisped  it  to  a  soul !  " 

"  True,  Matilda  ?  —  never  to  any  one  ?  " 

"  Never !  sure  as  I  live !  " 

"Not  even  to  Enos?" 

"  Did  n't  I  tell  you  I  would  n't  ?  "  But  Matilda's  voice  fal- 
tered, and  she  looked  troubled. 

"  0,  then,"  said  Bertha,  "  we  have  been  dece-ved !  Robert 
guessed  where  she  was,  and  made  up  the  story.  Run  for  Mr. 
Rukely  !  He  is  at  the  conference.  Make  haste,  Matilda  !  " 

"Why,"  cried  Miss  Fosdick,  "who  said  I  told  Enos  Crumlctt? 
1  can't  think  that  I  ever  breathed  a  syllable  to  him  about  it ,  and 
if  I  had,  he  would  n't  gone  and  told." 

Bertha  hurried  back  to  the  house,  in  greater  trouble  than  be- 
fore, believing  that  she  had  been  duped  by  Robert's  confident  air 
and  protestations  of  friendship ;  and  that,  through  her,  Camille 
had  been  betrayed.  A  sudden  change  was  given  to  the  current 
of  her  thoughts,  however,  when,  arriving  at  the  house,  she  found 


THE    WILDERNESS.  383 


the  southern  agents  there  before  her ;  the  doors  flung  wide ;  the 
old  lady  frightened;  and  Dickson  furious  at  discovering  thu« 
once  more  the  bird  had  flown. 

Beyond  the  village,  Robert  pursued  an  unfrequented  road,  and, 
turning  into  a  forest,  followed  a  winding,  irregular  track,  among 
the  trees. 

"  Where  are  you  taking  me?"  implored  Camille. 

"  To  the  only  spot  I  know  where  you  can  spend  the  night  iu 
safety,"  answered  Robert.  In  safety !  The  word  sounded  hollow 
as  mockery  in  her  ear ;  —  as  if  there  could  be  safety  for  her  any- 
where, with  him ! 

He  drove  on.  The  woods  stood  strangely  still  in  the  storm  ; 
there  seemed  no  motion  but  the  falling  of  the  snowy  cloud,  no 
sound  save  that  of  hoofs  and  runners  among  the  dark  column  of 
the  forest.  The  road  was  one  that  had  been  beaten  by  wood  ou- 
ters ;  it  was  rough  and  uneven ;  and  Robert,  who  found  it  neo* . 
gary  to  proceed  slowly,  occupied  the  time  in  endeavoring  to  rea*- 
sure  Camille.  That  he  had  suffered  pangs  of  remorse  on  her 
account,  she  could  not  doubt ;  but,  knowing  him  to  be  a  slave  to 
selfishness  and  passion,  not  one  spark  of  genuine  faith  or  hope 
could  she  draw  from  his  most  earnest  vows.  As  they  penetrated 
further  and  further  the  gloom  of  the  woods,  deeper  and  darker 
became  her  despair.  "  0,  Hector  !  Hector  !  "  called  her  soul,  in 
its  helplessness ;  "  come  to  me  !  come  to  me !  " 

At  length  they  turned  into  a  path  so  narrow  that  the  cutter 
touched  the  bushes  on  each  side,  as  they  passed.  They  were  in 
the  midst  of  a  thicket  that  had  overgrown  an  ancient  clearing. 
"Here,"  said  Robert,  "  we  are  beyond  pursuit." 

"  What  is  here?  "  uttered  the  shuddering  fugitive. 

"A  refuge — a  home  —  a  protector!"  —  and  Robert  pointed 
out  a  log-hut,  which  appeared  suddenly  to  view,  as  they  turned  a 
point  in  the  tangled  wild.  It  was  a  dismal  spot;  the  hut  had  a 
dreary,  ruined,  uninhabited  aspect;  the  gloom,  the  storm,  the  sav- 
age loneliness  of  the  wood,  which  Canaille's  eye  beheld  on  every 
side,  added  terrors  to  her  situation.  She  had  resolved  in  her 
heart  not  to  leave  the  cutter,  unless  dragged  from  it  by  lorce ; 
when,  to  her  astonishment,  Robert,  leaping  upon  the  grouno 


381  THE   WILDERNESS. 


knocked  three  times  upon  the  door.     After   some  delay,  it  was  • 
slowly  opened,  and  a  chubby  female  face  appeared,  accompanied 
by   an    uncovered   head,    and  a  short,   plump  figure,   carelessly 
attired. 

"  Why  !  is  it  you  ?  Who  have  you  got  with  you  ?  "  The  face 
struck  Camille  peculiarly;  she  had  seen  it  somewhere;  and,  at 
the  sound  of  the  voice,  a  flood  of  recollections  rushed  over  her. 
—  "  Dear  me !  Miss  Woods !  " 

"  I  had  forgotten  that  you  were  old  friends,"  said  Robert.  "  So 
cauch  the  better." 

"  Does  rny  husband  know  ?  "  —  and  the  chubby  face  turned  to  - 
lUbert  with  a  look  of  trepidation. 

"  There  was  no  time  to  consult  him,"  said  Robert. 

"  I  'm  afraid  he  won't  like  it —  I  —  it  is  so  sudden ! " —  and,  turn- 
ing to  Camille  again,  the  chubby  face  tried  to  smile.  "This  is  a 
surprise,  is  n't  it?  How  do  you  do?  How  have  you  been  ?  Are 
you  pretty  well  ?  Has  your  health  been  good  since  —  it  is  quite 
unexpected,  finding  me  in  such  a  place,  is  n't  it  ?  Who  ever 
thought  you  would  visit  me  ?  How  well  you  are  looking !  " 

"  She  is  just  up  from  a  sick  bed,"  said  Robert.  "  Make  way, 
and  place  a  chair." 

"  Why,  is  she  ill  ?  "  cried  the  excited  little  woman.  "  Who 
would  have  thought?  How  feeble  you  do  look  !  Excuse  appear- 
ances ;  we  are  —  my  husband  has  a  fancy  for  rural  spots,  —  we  're 
here  only  temporarily,  you  know.  How  did  you  leave  Canada  ?  " 

The  interior  of  the  hut  was  in  keeping  with  the  exterior ;  the 
walls  were  of  plastered  logs,  the  floor  of  rough  plank,  the  furni- 
ture scanty  and  rude.  But  a  blazing  fire  in  the  chimney  cast  a 
glow  of  comfort  upon  the  scene ;  and  the  chubby  little  woman 
hastened  to  place  an  old-fashioned  arm-chair  before  the  hearth  for 
Camille.  Having  seen  his  companion  seated,  Robert  went  out  to 
take  care  of  his  horse.  The  door  was  shut  and  fastened.  Then 
Caraille  held  eagerly  upon  the  arm  of  the  duchess,  who  was  re- 
moving her  thinLS. 

"  Dear  Mrs.  Spurkley !  "  said  she,  '  I  think  you  are  my  friend! 
Explain  this  to  me !  It  seems  so  strange  that  I  should  be  brought 
;6re,  —  that  I  shou1'!  find  you  !  " 


THE    WILDERNESS.  3&O 


"  Bless  itie  !  "  cried  the  duchess,  "  you  know  more  about  it  than 
1  do  !  I  never  was  so  astonished  in  my  life  !  Is  't  an  elopement? 
Excuse  me.  I  mean,  are  you  married  ?  " 

"  You  have  not  heard,  then,  that  I  have  been  pursued  — 
hunted  —  " 

'Heavens,  no!  How?  when?  where?  Have  you  passed  —  any 
of  -it?" 

"Have  you  heard  nothing?  —  how  they  came  to  take  me  — 
how  I  escaped  ?  " 

"Not  a  word!  How  was  you  found  out?  How  much  waa 
there  of  it?  Where  did  you  pass  it?  0,"  exclaimed  the  duch- 
ess, turning  all  sorts  of  colors,  and  exhibiting  signs  of  consterna- 
tion in  every  look  and  gesture,  "  my  husband  said  't  would  be  so  ! 
If  ever  we  was  found  out,  't  would  be  through  him  !  Why  did  he 
bring  you  here  ?  We  shall  all  be  taken  together  !  He 's  the  most 
rashest,  inconsiderit  man  that  ever  I  see!  Are  they  following 
you  now  ?  Can  they  track  you  here  ?  " 

"  I  do  not  know  ;  my  mind  seems  all  confused  !  Either  I  do 
not  understand  you,  else  you  do  not  understand  me." 

"  Did  n't  you  know  what  kind  it  was  when  you  passed  it?  " 

"  What  are  you  saying  ?  " 

"  Why  ! ''  cried  the  duchess,  "  was  n't  it  for  passing?  " 

"  I  do  not  know  what  you  mean  by  passing.  I  am  —  I  was  — 
they  call  me  —  a  fugitive  —  a  slave!  They  have  come  to  claim 
me,  — to  take  me  back  !  " 

"  You  !  Mercy  !  is  that  it  ?  I  thought  —  dear  me,  what  have 
I  been  talking?  Then  you  haven't  had  any  of  it?  But  what 
should  he  bring  you  here  for  ?  " 

"He  is  coming;  he  will  explain  to  you;  I  cannot,"  said  poor 
Camille.  "  But,  0,  Mrs.  Sperkley  !  you  are  a  woman ;  you  will 
be  my  friend  !  " 

"  Wait !  "  said  the  duchess.  "  There  's  his  knock/'  She 
sprang  to  undo  the  fastenings  of  the  door.  At  sight  of  Robert 
entering,  Camille's  vision  grew  dark,  and  a  few  minutes  later,  with 
but  a  dim  consciousness  of  what  had  taken  place,  she  found  her- 
self lying  upon  a  bed,  in  a  strange  apartment,  with  Robert  bend- 
ing over  her,  while  Mrs.  Sperkley  bathed  her  lips  and  temples. 
33 


38(3  THE   WILDERNESS. 


"  Drink,"  said  Robert,  holding  a  glass  to  her  lips.  "  It  will  dc 
you  good." 

"No,  —  leave  me,"  entreated  Cainille. 

"It  is  a  simple  restorative;  you  need  it  much,"  insisted 
Robert. 

"  Perhaps ;  but  I  will  not  drink." 

"  Go  !"  —  Mrs.  Sperkley  pushed  Robert  away.  —  "I  can  man 
age  her  !  "  And  the  little  woman  presented  the  draught  with  one 
of  her  most  confident  and  persuasive  smiles.  To  her  astonishment, 
it  was  still  refused.  "  Why,  't  an't  bad  !  Jest  taste  it." 

Camille  glanced  suspiciously  at  Robert's  retreating  figure.  "1 
have  heard,"  she  whispered,  "  of  people  being  drugged  !  0,  Mrs. 
Sperkley,  you  will  be  true  to  me !  and,  if  I  should  not  be  all  tho 
time  in  my  right  mind,  you  will  not  let  me  take  any  hurtful  drink, 
—  tell  me  that !  " 

"  Who  ever  heard  of  such  a  thing  ?  "  ejaculated  the  duchess. 
•'  Look  ; "  and  she  drank  the  potion  at  a  breath.  "  It 's  wine, 
right  from  my  husband's  bottle.  He  always  has  the  best  o'  wine. 
Yo-;  shall  see  me  pour  some  for  you." 

After  that,  Camille  drank.  The  wine  revived  and  warmed  her. 
She  wit-hed  then  to  be  left  alone,  and  Mrs.  Sperkley  withdrew. 
•She  was  lying  languidly  upon  the  bed,  with  her  eyes  closed,  think- 
ing unutterable  thoughts,  and  searching  deeply  within  hereel-f  for 
the  light  of  Wisdom  to  guide  and  sustain  her,  when  the  creaking 
of  the  door,  and  a  footstep  by  the  bed,  startled  her.  She  looked 
up,  and  saw  Robert  entering  softly. 

"  I  am  sorry  if  I  disturb  you,"  he  said,  in  a  low  tone.  "  If  you 
can  sleep,  let  me  sit  here  and  watch." 

"  I  prefer  to  be  alone,"  answered  Camille,  closing  her  eyes 
again,  and  covering  her  face.  He  dropped  upon  his  knees  by  her 
side.  He  groaned  ;  his  frame  shook ;  she  heard  the  gnashing  of 
his  teeth.  "Will  you  leave  me,  sir?  "  she  said,  more  firmly  than 
before. 

"  Yes,  since  you  wish  it."  But  he  did  not  move.  There  was  a 
long  pause.  "  0,  God  !  "  he  burst  forth  at  length,  "  why  are  you 
so  beautiful  ?  why  are  you  so  lovely  ?  " 

"  Robert  Greenwich  !  "  she  critd,  starting  up,  "  will  you  go  ?  " 


THE    WILDERNESS.  387 


"  Camille."  he  answered,  in  tones  stifled  by  passion,  "  I  have 
sworn,  and  I  will  keep  my  word.  But  hear  me  one  moment. 
Your  only  safety  is  in  me.  You  shall  rest  here  until  to-morrow  ; 
but  Canada  must  be  reached  ;  there  is  danger  in  delay.  \\TQ 
will  go  together.  The  service,  the  love,  the  life  of  a  great  soul, 
is  yours,  if  you  will  accept  it.  Have  I  not  shown  my  devotion 
to-day  ?  Do  you  not  think  differently  of  me  ?  Am  I  not  wor- 
thy at  least  to  be  your  servant  ?  " 

"  No  !  "  said  Camille.     "  Tempter  !     I  will  not  hear  you  !  " 

"You  still  have  hope  of  Hector.  But  he  cannot  save  you.  His 
attempt  to  purchase  you  has  proved  abortive.  No  wealth  could 
satisfy  your  owner.  If  you  are  taken,  you  must  return  to  slavery. 
This  is  hard  language,  but  it  is  the  truth.  I  wish  you  to  know 
your  danger,  and  to  know  me." 

"  My  danger  is  in  you  —  I  know  no  other  !  0,  it  is  you  who 
haye  done  me  treacherous  wrong ;  it  is  to  you  I  owe  so  much 
suffering  !  Perhaps  what  you  tell  me  is  true  ;  perhaps  Hector 
could  not  save  me,  were  he  here ;  but,  sir,  rather  than  live  your 
favorite,  even  your  wife,  I  would  die  beneath  the  feet  of  swine ! 
Why  will  you  not  understand  me  ?  Why  will  you  not  believe 
the  testimony  of  my  soul  ?  It  is  my  whole  nature,  my  life,  my 
very  being,  that  rises  up  against  you  !  " 

Robert  struggled  with  himself,  striving,  perhaps,  to  keep  the 
oath  which  he  had  not  indeed  taken  in  idle  mood.  But  resolution 
was  weak.  Passion  was  mighty.  He  saw  Camille  in  his  power. 
The  gulf  of  temptation  opened  beneath  him  like  a  hell.  He 
seized  her  hand. 

"  Touch  me  not !  "  she  cried.     "  Serpent !  " 

And,  feeble  as  she  was,  she  sprang  up,  flying  from  his  approach. 

"  Greenwich  !  "  called  the  duchess,  from  without.  Robert  made 
no  response ;  she  then  began  to  knock  violently,  and  shake  the 
door,  which  —  as  Camille  discovered,  to  her  dismay — had  been 
bolted  on  the  inner  side. 

"  What  do  you  w^nt  ?  "  demanded  Robert. 

"  Do  come  out!"  whispered  the  duchess.  "There's  a  sleigh 
in  the  bush.  Some  men  arc  coming  to  the  door,  and  1  'm  fright- 
ened  to  death  !  " 


388  THE    WILDERNESS. 


A  shadow  swept  over  Robert's  face.     "  How  many  ?  " 

"  Three  or  four.     They  're  knocking  !     What  shall  I  do  ?  " 

Robert  slipped  back  the  bolt,  glided  from  the  chamber,  and 
obtained  a  hasty  glimpse  at  the  party,  through  a  loophole  neai 
the  outer  door  of  the  hut.  The  knocking  was  repeated. 

"  Shall  I  open  ?  "  whispered  the  agitated  duchess. 

He  put  her  off,  and  hastened  back  to  Camille.  "  That  accursed 
Dickson  !  They  have  tracked  us  by  the  snow.  Shall  I  savo 
you  ?  " 

"  Save  me  !  how  ?  "  said  the  pallid  girl. 

"  Say  but  the  word,  and  'tis  done !  There  's  not  an  instant  to 
lose  ! " 

"  What  do  you  mean?  " 

"  Look  at  me !  You  have  distrusted,  scorned  me,  spat  upon 
me !  I  'm  not  the  fool  to  serve  you  for  such  pay.  Choose  now 
your  fate  !  " 

"  How  —  choose?" 

"  Between  me  and  slavery !  Between  me  and  perhaps  a  dozen 
brutal  masters  !  Speak  —  at  once  !  " 

The  knocking  at  the  door  had  become  loud  and  violent.  Robert 
grasped  Camille's  arm,  as  she  supported  herself  by  the  bed.  Her 
suffering  and  terror  were  extreme ;  but,  in  the  midst  of  all,  she 
kept  her  bright  unchanging  look  on  his,  and  a  resistless  spiritual 
power  seemed  poured  upon  her,  as  she  spoke. 

"  Come  a  thousand  evils,  come  slavery,  come  death !  —  I  can 
die,  but  I  cannot  sin !  " 

Dickson's  party  thundered  at  the  door. 

"  Consider  !  "  said  Robert,  with  flaming  eyes.  "  In  their  hands 
you  will  be  lost.  Vengeance  and  hatred  are  hungry  for  you ! 
There  is  in  this  house  a  place  of  concealment,  which  I  would  defy 
an  army  of  Dicksons  to  discover !  Once  there,  you  are  safe. 
Promise  me  your  love,  and  nothing  shall  harm  you !  " 

"I  cannot  resist  wrong  with  wrong;  I  cannot  promise  falsd  y  !  " 
answered  Charlotte.  "  Save  me  lor  justice,  for  mercy,  —  t  will 
tbank  you;  but,  if  for  your  own  selnsnnoss.  1  shan  scoru  you  the 


THE    WILDERNESS.  38i> 

viows  shook  the  door  of  the  hut,  and  voices  called  and  threat- 
urwil.     Mrs.  Sperkley  ran  to  and  fro,  beside  h»"oolP  ^ifa  terror. 
Is  this  your  answer?''  hissed  Robert. 

"  It  is  my  answer  !  "  came  the  firm  response. 

Robert  rushed  to  the  door,  and  threw  it  broadly  open.  "  Dick- 
son,"  said  he,  "  I  'm  glad  to  see  you." 

"  Green  vvich  !"  ,>a.rd  JJicksim,  with  a  ferocious  loo*.,  "I'm 
glad  to  see  you  !  A  mighty  fine  trick  you  've  played  us  !  ' 

"  It 's  a  trick  fi,.i    vuioh  you  '11  thank  me  !  " 

"With  a  venge^M  •(>.!"  growled  Diekson.   ."  Where's  that  gal?" 

"  In  a  safe  place-  -  lor  you.  Crumlett  has  flunked  ;  he  warned 
h(  :  to  escapo.  Mrs.  Rukely  called  to  me  for  help,  as  I  was  riding 
b}  I  brought  her  here,  —  to  keep  her  until  word  could  be  got  to 
you.  If  this  is  the  way  I  am  thanked,  —  there  is  your  prey ; 
.iutch  her,  and  good  luck  to  you  !  "  And,  as  the  human  hounds, 
cheered  on  by  the  stanch  Oliver  Dole,  rushed  into  the  chamber 
of  the  defenceless  fugitive,  the  traitor  Robert  turned  his  back, 
and  fled.  He  ran  to  a  hovel  in  the  thicket  close  by  ;  there  stood 
his  horse,  where  he  had  left  him  ;  he  brought  him  out,  leaped 
into  the  sleigli,  lashed  him  with  his  whip,  and,  dashing  past  the 
house,  and  along  the  narrow,  winding  path,  reached  the  road, 
and  returned  the  way  he  came. 

The  storm  had  ceased.  Before  him  spread  the  woodland,  calm 
and  still.  Over  the  whited  ground,  beneath  the  enow-laden 
boughs,  amid  the  solemn  trunks  that  stood  amazed  as  he  passed, 
he  urged  his  horse's  speed  with  whip  and  rein.  The  snow  seemed 
a  mantle  dropped  from  heaven  for  his  destruction.  It  had  sailed 
down  before  him,  to  receive  the  fatal  print  of  his  hoofs  and  run- 
ners in  the  woods;  but  it  had  failed  to  cover  his  track,  when  he 
passed  on.  It  was  the  flight  of  guilt,  of  fear,  of  baffled  rage  and 
shame :  to  quit  the  scenes  of  his  unmanly  acts,  to  fly  his  native 
land,  to  leave  the  past  and  remorse  forever  behind  him  !  0,  that 
whirlwinds  would  blow  !  that  the  trees  would  groan  and  roar ! 
that  howling  storms  would  cover  his  track  with  drifts !  lln 
approached  an  opening  of  the  wood.  Beyond,  abcvo  the  shaggy 
mountain  side,  glowed  the  subdued  fire  of  the  afternoon  sun  through 
banks  of  gilded  cloud,  shooting  mild  rays  athwart  the  forest  tops, 


390 


and  tinging  with  faint  gold  the  bosom  of  the  virgin  snow. 
Overhead  the  myriad  curving  branches,  the  infinite  net-work  of 
silver-lined  boughs,  the  roof  of  ebon  tracery  edged  with  pearl, 
opened,  and  brightened,  and  smiled  in  the  blushing  light.  Hid 
career  seemed  all  the  more  fearful  and  guilty  from  contrast  with 
this  beauty.  Perhaps  he  felt  the  eye  of  Deity  looking  down  upon 
him  then,  or  the  bright  heaven  his  sin  had  forfeited  smiling  in 
pity  upon  his  flight. 

He  lashed  his  horse,  and  was  soon  out  of  the  wood.  He  had 
turned  down  the  western  track  before  he  observed  a  horseman 
riding  fast  between  him  and  the  sun.  He  was  approaching ;  they 
met ;  lightning  glances  of  recognition  passed  between  them ; 
Robert  whipped  on  more  furiously  than  before ;  and  the  other, 
wheeling  short  on  his  course,  spurred  after  him. 

The  race  was  brief;  but  already  the  competitors  had  passca 
the  village,  astonishing  spectators  by  the  unusual  scene,  when  the 
pursuer,  galloping  to  the  head  of  Robert's  horse,  grasped  the  rein, 
and  with  a  sudden  wrench,  bearing  the  poor  animal  sheer  from 
the  track,  broke  his  perilous  speed  against  the  road-side  fence. 
The  shafts  were  splintered,  the  cutter  overturned,  the  rider  hurled 
headlong ;  and  Hector,  wheeling  again,  leaped  down  from  his 
palpitating  steed,  just  as  Robert  snow-covered,  bruised,  bewil- 
dered, was  struggling  to  hi.",  feet 


XL11I. 

TUL   LAW   TAKES    ITS   COURSE. 

'•  Ai.f,  right. !  "  chuckled  Dickson,  as  his  hand  grasped  Camilie's 
fctonldcr.  "Ooioc.  my  chick  !  I  reck'n  you'll  go  along 'thout 
any  more  TUP-*  ;  tbe/^  's  been  fool'n'  enough  for  one  while." 

"  No  violence  !  "  interposed  Oliver  Dole.  "  Let  the  law  quietly 
take  it-:  course  ;  that 's  all  we  want." 

Cumille,  who  had  fallen  upon  her  knees  by  the  bed,  attempted 
to  rise,  turning  her  suffering,  bewildered  looks  upon  the  man  of 
law.  Such  gentleness  and  frailness,  such  loveliness  and  distress, 
he  had  little  expected  to  behold.  His  stern  face  contracted  with 
pain,  as  his  public  conscience  was  momentarily  surprised  by  a  ray 
of  Luuian  feeling  that  stole  into  his  heart.  With  a  softened  look, 
he  extended  his  hand,  to  support  her  faltering  step  ;  when  suddenly 
she  Coll  like  one  dead  at  his  feet. 

"  Jones  !  "  cried  Dickson,  "  pass  yer  flask  !  I  '11  fetch  her  out 
of  this  !  I  Ve  seen  sech  tricks  'fore  to-day." 

"  What  you  going  to  do  with  her  1 "  screamed  the  affrighted 
duchess. 

"Jest  you  stan'  one  side,  and  hold  yer  clatter,  —  that's  all  I 
ask  of  you  !  "  And  Dickson  roughly  administered  the  restorative 
to  his  victim,  holding  her  head  upon  his  knee. 

"  T  'in  astonished  to  find  her  so  feeble  !  "  exclaimed  Oliver  Dole. 
"  She  ought  n't  to  be  moved  till  she  's  stronger." 

"  If  she  could  run  away,  she  can  go  with  us ! "  growled 
Diokson. 

"Greenwich  has  give  us  the  slip  !"  cried  Jones.  " There  h« 
goes,  by  Jehu  !  " 

"After  him,  Jones!     Take  the  little  sleigh.      Ketch  him,  if 


392  THE    LAW    TAKES    ITS    COU11SB. 


ye  die  !      He  don't  git  off  so,   after   break'u'  his   pait  o'  the 
barg'in  !  " 

"  Keep  yer  fist  onto  her  !  "  cried  Jones,  at  parting. 

"  llesk  me,  for  that !  I  don't  quit  my  holt,  till  she  's  safe 
under  lock  and  bar,  make  sure  o'  that !  Ah !  coin'n'  to,  a  bit, 
be  ye  ?  That 's  right ;  spunk  up  !  It 's  got  to  come  ;  and  the 
sooner  it  's  over,  the  quicker.  Here,  yo-.i  upp!e-face,"  —  to 
the  duchess,  —  "  han't  she  gut  no  bumiit,  nor  noth'n'  ?  " 

Mrs.  Sperkley  brought  Camille's   things,   na<\.  in  r.\< 
dation,  assisted  to   put  them  on.      Then  the  V  ij.'e>sg 
lifted  in  the  arms  of  the  brutal  man,  and  borne  to  the  s>;.^'i. 

"  Be  careful  with  her,"  said  Oliver  Dole.  ••  It  's  hum  hu.-3i.iost? 
enough,  make  the  best  on  V 

"Don't  ye  s'pose  I  know  what's  tbv  37  hiierest.?  Of  coarse 
I'll  be  car'ful ;  I'll  handle  her  lite  an  °jrg  ^7aks  ;.-,.!:;  c-j  o~> 
the  sleigh-bottom  ;  we  can  keep  her  warm  i  -?':.*•,  our  feet." 

"  Good  heavens,  don't  drop  her  head  that  way  !  *' 

"  Lord,  she  '11  live  through  it,  only  ?-\  Lor  «o  's  't  she  can 
breathe  !  "  said  Dickson.  "  Seems  to  me  ye  ve  growed  mighty 
chick'n-hearted,  since  our  'quaint'uce  bc^un.  You  was  fierce 
enough  for  the  business  !  But,  .lince  these  cussed  north'n  dough- 
faces set  up  sech  a  yell  aginst  us,  you  'vc  looked  a  mighty  f  "^tit 
like  flunk' a'.  There,  she  '11  go  so,  ooiaf  'table  enough,  I  reoL'n. 
Now,  driver,  git  out  o'  this  bush  fast  a*  yer  horses  'll  carry  -...s !  " 

The  horses  were  fleet ;  the  driver  stanch,  well-paid,  and  oagcr 
in  the  hunt ;  and  they  soon  reached  the  '•peeing  of  the  ^ood. 

"  Slack  up,  half  a  sec'nt !  "  med  Bick?<:u.  "  I.  's  in  Kr.pes  we  'd 
ketch  Jones  and  Greenwich ;  but  1-j',  em  -o  !  II:\v  I  yc  git  on, 
my  gal  ?  Pooty  comf 'table  ?  " 

Camille  lay  still  and  pale  as  death,  in  the  position  in  which  she 
had  been  placed.  Her  eyes  were  closed  ;  she  did  not  speak  ;  she 
appeared  scarce  to  breathe.  Dickson's  brows  gathered. 

"  I  don't  like  the  looks  o'  that  face  !  I  reck'ned  she  'd  ccme 
to,  'fore  this,  and  scream,  and  take  on,  like  they  gen'ly  do.  I 
don't  fancy  driv'n'  through  the  village  with  her,  nuther  ;  't  would 
be  hard  keep'n'  her  out  o'  sight ;  and  yer  north'n  ab'lish'n  folkf 
are  sech  cussed  fools  !  " 


THE    LAW   TAKES   ITS   COURSE.  39o 


I1'  other  road  '11  be  'bout  as  near,"  remarked  the  driver. 

"  Then  take  it ;  and  don't  let  next  spring's  grass  grow  under 
yer  runners,  nuiher  !  S'pos'n'  we  git  her  up,  so  's  't  she  can  suck 
the  air  a  little  freer.  I  wish  I  'd  kep'  Jones'  flask '  Why  the  devil 
did  n't  I  ?  That  would  fix  her." 

Oliver's  face  was  troubled.  He  bent  anxiously  over  tbe  help- 
less captive,  endeavoring  to  raise  her  to  an  easier  position.  "  How 
do  you  feel  now  ?  A  little  better,  an't  ye  ?  You  must  pluck  up 
*•  IT  igo  ;  you  're  perfectly  safe  ;  you  're  in  the  hands  of  the  law, 
«  od  there  Ml  be  no  injustice  ;  try  to  go  through  it  bravely,  —  you 
wiji,  won't  ye  ?  "  But  only  a  low  moan  escaped  her,  and  her  head 
091.*.  powerlessly  upon  his  arm. 

"  There,  I  like  that  better  !  "  exclaimed  Dickson.  "  'S  long  's 
they  can  make  that  noise,  there  's  hopes  on  'em.  O,  she  '11  git 
through  't,  somehow.  They  all  act  so.  Thar  's  a  mighty  sight  o' 
?!^am  'bout  these  yer  white  ones.  They  're  'maz'n'  shrewd  ;  tough, 
too,  some  on  'em  are." 

"  There  's  no  sham  here  !  "  said  Oliver  Dole. 

"  Wai,  sham  or  no  sham,  she  's  got  to  go  !  Git  her  safe  once, 
then  I  Ml  have  a  doctor  look  to  her ;  but  I  an't  go'n'  to  run  no 
resks  !  Don't  her  bunnet  choke  her  ?  " 

Biekson's  impatient  fingers  tore  the  strings.  A  slight  shrinking 
2nd  shuddering,  ->;:  his  rough  hand  touched  her  throat,  was  the 
or.ly  sign  of  consciousness  she  gave.  All  external  things  had 
grown,  dim  and  shadowy  around  her.  To  Dickson's  brutal  speech, 
to  the  officer's  kinder  words,  to  cruelty,  humiliation,  bodily  pain, 
she  was  alike  insensible.  Not  that  feeling  was  dead,  —  but  one 
deep,  unspeakable  agony  absorbed  all.  She  knew  not  when  the 
steeples  and  chimneys  of  the  town  appeared  in  view ;  when  the 
sight  of  the  jail,  with  its  barred  windows  and  grim  stone  walls, 
gladdened  Dickson's  ferocious  eyes  ;  nor  when  the  commissioner's 
house  was  reached. 

A  bald,  hump-backed,  pursy,  Union-saving  judge,  threw  open 
the  door  of  welcome  to  the  hunters  of  human  flesh.  Then  once 
more  she  wae  lifted  rudely ;  strong  arms  bore  her  from  the 
sleigh ;  behind  her,  doors  were  closed ;  she  was  in  a  strange- 
looking  apartment ,  —  all  this  flitted  like  mist  over  the  agouiz- 


391  THE   LAW    TAKES   ITS    COURSJ1. 


ing  dark  of  her  mind ;  and  she  sat  listless,  dumb,  wuh  -n  -Uh 
upon  her  face  and  in  her  heart,  while  the  sickening,  iioiri'l 
dream  went  on. 

She  was  now  half  conscious  of  human  shapes  thronging  the 
room  ;  of  eyes  fixed  upon  her,  some  in  stony  curiosity,  some  in  feeble 
pity ;  of  low,  fierce,  rapid  words  spoken,  which  seemed  somehow 
mixed  with  her  fate  ;  of  a  stern-visaged  man  at  a  desk,  question- 
ing and  writing ;  of  a  pale-faced,  solemn  clock  staring  upon  her, 
from  the  wall ;  and  of  many  things  mingled,  undefined,  •whirling 
and  whirling  in  filmy  indistinctness  around  her. 

She  had  no  sense  of  the  time  that  elapsed.  To  Dickson,  it 
was  just  twenty-seven  minutes,  by  his  hunting-watch.  His 
brows  blackened  with  impatience.  He  thrust  the  timepiece 
back  into  his  pocket,  and  dashed  the  sweat  from  his  forehead. 

"  An't  we  never  go'n'  to  git  through  ?  What  yer  wait'n'  for 
now  ?  "  The  hump-backed  judge  sat  at  his  desk,  signing  a  jail  order, 
with  a  grimace  of  official  wisdom.  Oliver  Dole  stood  to  receivo 
the  document.  Dickson,  furious,  stamped  the  floor.  Lawyers 
and  spectators  pressed  around.  In  the  midst,  two  men  supported 
Camille  upon  her  chair.  Others,  stationed  at  the  doors  and  win- 
dows, kept  back  the  clamorous  crowd. 

"  Marshal  Dole  !  "  spoke  the  judge's  iron  voice.  There  was  a 
hush  of  expectation,  as,  shaking  the  ink-sand  from  the  paper,  he 
folded  it,  with  a  calm  stroke  of  his  fingers,  and  passed  it  over  the 
desk.  Oliver  thrust  it  in  his  breast-pocket,  and  with  a  trouble  of 
face  that  might  have  impeached  his  public  conscience,  turned  to 
his  poor  captive. 

"  Got  it  ?  "  cried  Dickson.  "  Cl'ar  the  way  !  Have  yer  men 
on  hand,  marshal !  If  the  mob  wants  fun,  they  shall  have  it !  " 
And  he  adjusted  a  pistol  beneath  his  coat. 

"  Don't  offer  provocation  ! "  exclaimed  Oliver,  huskily.  "  March 
out  peaceable,  and  in  order.  Let  the  girl  take  my  arm,  —  't  will 
look  better." 

"  Come  !  "  muttered  Dickson,  shaking  Camille's  shoulder. 

She  started,  and  breathed  quick,  a  momentary  gleam  of  reason 
flashing  from  her  vacant  eyes. 

"Is  it  —  to-night?"  she  uttered,  like  one  half  awake. 


THE   LAW   TAKES   ITS    COURSE.  &V)5 


•  Yes,  it 's  to-night !  "  said  Dickson,  coarsely.  "  Come,  ye  're 
go'n'  to  walk  a  step  or  two,  d'  ye  know  it  ?  " 

"Am  I  —  going?" 

"  Yes,  my  gal ;  you  're  goin'.  Can't  be  helped,  ye  know  ;  sc 
cheer  up,  look  bright,  show  yer  pluck  once  !  " 

"  Let  me  stay  one  night !  "  pleaded  Camille,  in  a  voice  so 
utterly  weak  and  helpless,  that  only  those  immediately  surround- 
ing her  could  hear. 

"Have  this  veil  over  yer  face!"  v.'d  Dickson.  »  Ye  don't 
want  to  be  seen  look'n'  babyich,  ;/c  Vn  ,w.  No"?  t^ke  the  mar- 
shal's arm.  I  '11  hold  on  t'  othri-  f-<l",  «"  ';.  't  ye  tbin't  fall.  l>e 
acoommodat'n',  and  't  '11  go  a  mighty  sigh:  ?v->k;  with  ye  than  if 
ye  're  contrary,  ye  know."  And,  with  a  r-de  grasp,  he  attempted 
to  lift  her  to  her  feet. 

"  Shall  I  never  see  him  again  ?  "  she  implored,  in  a  faint,  sob- 
bing utterance.  "  Am  I  to  be  taken  right  away  ?  " 

•''  Hang  it !  "  cried  Dickson,  "  ye  're  only  goV  to  jail,  ye 
know.  So  don't  be  scart,  my  gal.  You  '11  be  kcp'  there  to- 
night, —  and  it  may  be  a  day  or  two  Tore  the  judge  gives  his 
decish'n.  So  spunk  up  ;  it 's  got  to  come,  ye  know ;  't  a  n't  no 
use  cavin'  in." 

Thereupon,  gathering  some  little  hope,  she  knew  not  what,  or 
wherefore,  Camille  made  a  feeble  effort  to  arise. 

"  That 's  the  talk  !  "  said  Dickson,  clasping  her  with  brute  force. 
"  I  got  ye  ;  ye  can't  fall,  if  ye  try.  Keep  up  your  side,  marshal. 
Now,  then,  one  foot  right  ahead  o'  t'  other ;  no  flinch 'n' !  Thar  !  " 
—  as  she  made  a  step  towards  the  door,  —  "  what  M  I  tell  ye? 
Now  's  our  time,  marshal  !  " 

Camille  stopped  ;  her  limbs  grew  rigid ;  her  form  bent  back, 
vTithing,  as  in  a  mortal  spasm. 

"  None  o'  that !  "  muttered  Dickson;  shakirg  hor.  "  Come, 
valk  !  Ye  want  me  to  carry  ye,  hey  ?  " 

She  was  waking.  It  was  no  more  a  drcaia.  The  awful  mean- 
.'ng  of  it.  all  burst  upon  her.  Freedom,  happiness,  taken  forever 
4  way  !  Hope,  life,  love,  all,  all  gone  !  A  fr.te  more  horrible  than 
a  thousand  deaths  awaiting  her !  and  she  alone,  defence.ess,  help- 
less, delivered  over  to  ruffians  by  the  T,AW  itsolf !  O,  oic-  '  0 
God  !  0,  God  ' 


THE   LAW   TAKES   ITS   COURSE. 


With  sharp  agony,  consciousness  came.  She  roused,  and,  tearing 
aside  the  veil,  stood  frenzied,  casting  a  heart-chilling  gaze  around. 
There  was  a  pause,  then  a  tumult  at  the  door,  which  was  broken 
in  ;  and  a  wild  figure,  with  hair  disordered,  and  eyes  darting  fury, 
rushed  into  the  room.  Camille's  voice  burst  in  a  shriek.  Oliver 
Dole  reeled  against  the  shattered  window.  Dickson  was  hurled 
back  ;  and  a  swift  arm  caught  up  the  pallid  girl  as  she  was  sink- 
ing to  the  floor. 

"  She  is  mine  !  "  thrilled  a  proud  voice  through  the  room.  And 
[lector,  defiant,  held  the  throbbing  form  upon  his  heart.  A  shud- 
der of  awe  passed  through  the  spectators ;  officers  and  judge 
recoiled  before  him. 

"  She  is  mine  !  "  said  Dickson,  recovering  himself,  and  clutching 
Camille's  arm  ;  "  by  order  of  this  court,  —  by  the  laws  of  the 
country ! " 

Hector  thrust  him  off.  "  She  is  mine,"  he  cried,  "  by  the  decree 
of  heaven,  —  by  the  one  eternal  Law  !  " 

"That  don't  hold  in  our  courts  !  "  muttered  Dickson.  "  I  call 
upon  the  marshal  to  do  his  duty  !  " 

"  Amen !  "  Hector  turned  to  the  court,  his  scorn  and  fury 
quivering  in  every  fibre  of  his  frame,  in  every  line  and  curve  of 
his  lion-like  face..  "  I  call  upon  all  to  do  the  duty  of  men  !  There 
is  no  power  to  take  from  me  my  OWN  !  " 

"  You  '11  see  !  "  spluttered  Dickson.  "  Here  's  the  judge  !  — 
here  's  the  marshal's  force  !  —  she  's  got  to  go  !  " 

"  Mr.  Dunbury,"  spoke  the  judge,  "you  forget  yourself.  You 
are  resisting  the  execution  of  the  law." 

"  Ketch  holt  here  !  "  roared  Dickson. 

Mr.  Dole  and  his  deputies  pressed  forward.  Hector  held 
them  off  less  by  the  might  of  his  arm  than  by  the  terrors  of 
his  eye. 

"Hers  is  a  human  soul !"  —  he  bore  his  living  burden  nobly 
up,  and  a  solemn  power  rolled  through  his  tones.  "  'T  is  bound 
to  mine  !  And  what  God  has  joined,  man  cannot,  SHALL  NOT,  put 
asunder ! " 

"Oursehis  trash!"  frothed  Dickson.  "What  ye  all  about? 
Why  (l«n't  y<!  ketch  holt  ?  "  And,  clutching  Camille  again  Lo 
U.n>'t  hi.-  pistol  into  Hector's  face.  "  I  '11  shoot  ye,  by " 


THE    LAW    TAKES    ITS    COURSE.  397 


The  oath  was  gulped  back,  and  he  tumbled  upon  the  floor  liko 
a  log.  Hector  held  —  ins  OWN  !  He  strode  with  strong  strides 
towards  the  door.  The  officers  faltered ;  the  crowd  gave  way 
before  him ;  the  judge's  feeble  remonstrance  died  in  his  throat. 
Then  turning,  with  wrath  and  defiance  stamped  upon  his  front, 
Hector  beckoned  to  the  minion  of  the  law.  "  Give  that  to  your 
master !  "  and  his  hand  reached  forth  a  paper  to  Oliver  Dole,  who 
delivered  it  to  the  judge. 

Dickson  scrambled  upon  his  feet,  and  made  a  furious  lunge  at 
persons  in  the  crowd  who  had  seized  his  weapon  ;  but  it  was  flung 
from  the  window.  Again  there  was  a  hush,  as  the  judge  glanced 
his  eye  over  the  paper's  contents.  Dickson  stood  like  a  baffled 
wild  beast,  that  knew  not  which  way  to  turn.  The  judge  rapped 
upun  his  desk.  There  was  no  need.  Attention  was  breathless. 

"  This  paper  stops  all  legal  proceedings!     TUB  GIRL  is  FREE  !  " 

The  strained  silence  broke.  A  commotion  swelled,  bursting 
into  the  very  presence  of  the  judge,  from  the  crowd  without.  In 
the  midst  of  all  stood  Hector,  wonderful  to  look  upon  in  his 
I/right,  manly  strength,  with  Camille  still  throbbing  upon  his 
breast. 

"  She  is  free  !  free  !  "  ran  from  mouth  to  mouth  through  the 
crowd. 

"  A  fraud  !  "  tore  forth  Dickson's  infuriate  speech.  He 
rushed  to  the  desk.  His  eyes  flamed  upon  the  paper.  He  stood 
a  moment,  stupefied,  then  smote  the  signature  with  his  fist,  and 
broke  out,  huskily,  "  By  God,  it 's  Tanwood's  !  " 

Hector  had  turned  again.  Oliver  Dole  was  but  too  glad  to 
wash  his  hands  of  their  shameful  work.  There  was  no  opposi- 
tion from  him  or  his  deputies.  Heotor  strode  over  the  thresh- 
old. The  crowd,  would  have  boine  him  upon  their  shoulders. 
But  there  was  a  majesty  in  his  look,  that  put  them  off.  A 
sleigh  was  in  waiting.  He  stepped  in ;  he  wrapped  his  precious 
burden  to  his  heart ;  and  she,  who  was  so  late  a  thing,  a  slave, 
a  chattel,  rode  out  of  the  jubilant  throng  a  SOUL,  a  WOMAN,  a 

WIFE    COVING    AND   BELOVED. 

34 


XL1V. 

RETRIBUTION. 

ALONE,  within  the  compass  of  narrow  walls,  behind  an  ircn 
grated  door,  sat  Robert  Greenwich. 

The  faint  gleam  of  the  sunset  that  tinged  the  high,  barred 
windows  had  long  since  faded.  The  twilight  gloom  deepened. 
What  was  Robert  thinking,  at  that  hour  ?  What  change  had 
coiue  over  him  since,  haughty  and  erect,  but  ghastly  pale,  tearing 
his  glossy  moustache  with  his  shaking  hand,  he  marched  through 
the  iron  doors,  under  the  sheriff's  charge  ? 

Darker  still  grew  the  prison.  What  silence  !  What  awful 
solitude  !  Suddenly  there  was  a  clanking  of  doors  and  jingling 
of  keys.  The  jailer,  entering  with  a  lantern,  approached  the  pris- 
oner's cell. 

The  yellow  light  revealed  an  appalling  picture.  Robert  was 
scarcely  recognizable.  His  visage  was  distorted  •  he  seemed  to 
have  grown  old  a  dozen  years. 

*'  Mr.  Greenwich,"  spoke  the  jailer.  A  fierce  down-look,  a 
dark,  despairing  scowl,  but  no  motion  or  word  of  reply.  "  Ls 
there  any  person  you  wish  to  send  for  ?  " 

Robert  looked  up.  His  mouth  was  bloody,  his  hair  torn,  his 
eyes  haggard.  "  Does  my  father  know  ?  "  By  that  hollow  voice 
one  would  not  have  guessed  the  speaker. 

"  He  has  been  sent  for.  He  should  be  here  soon.  Anything 
else  ?  " 

"  No  !  "  The  keeper  hung  his  lantern  upon  a  pendent  chain, 
in  the  common  hall ;  then,  walking  away  with  his  jingling  keys, 
the  heavy  prison-doors  closed  after  him,  with  a  dismal  jar. 

Two  prisoners,  at   large   in   the  common   hall,  placed  a  light 


RETHIBUTION.  399 


wooden  table  beneath  the  swinging  lamp,  and,  producing  a  well 
worn  pack  of  cards,  commenced  a  cheerful  game  of  all-fours.  No 
other  society  in  the  jail ;  no  sounds  but  their  quiet  conversation, 
llobert  shrunk  back  within  the  shadow  of  his  cell,  burying  his 
face  in  his  hands,  that  he  might  neither  see  nor  hear. 

In  a  little  while  supper  was  brought  him.  The  men  ate  at 
their  table,  with  appetite,  putting  aside  their  cards,  llobert 
seized  his  pitcher  and  drank  plentifully,  but  left  the  food  untasted  ; 
then  sat  still,  as  before,  save  that  now  and  then  his  choked  breath 
came  hissing  through  his  teeth,  and  the  ague  of  despair  shook  the 
stool  on  which  be  sat. 

Once  more  the  iron  doors  opened,  and  a  visitor,  entering,  waa 
locked  in  the  jail.  He  was  a  spare  man,  with  a  wrinkled  face, 
and  a  stern,  dictatorial  expression.  Walking  with  a  quick  step 
towards  the  cell  to  which  the  keeper  pointed  him,  he  gazed  at  the 
wretched  object  seated  within.  "  SON  ROBERT  !  "  he  enunciated, 
in  amazed  and  indignant  accents. 

"  Ha  !  you  have  come  !  "  cried  Robert,  starting  up. 

He  sprang  to  the  grated  door  with  infuriate  looks,  and  quiver 
ing  hands  half  closed,  as  if,  in  the  madness  of  his  rage,  he  would 
have  torn  the  other  limb  from  limb.  The  apparition  was  so  sud- 
den that  'Squire  Greenwich  recoiled  with  the  instinct  of  fear. 
Robert  pressed  against  the  iron  bars,  glaring  out  upon  him. 
savagely. 

"  Son  Robert,  what  is  the  meaning  of  this  ?  " 

"  It  means  death !  "  said  Robert's  husky  voice. 

Drops  of  sweat  started  upon  the  'squire's  astonished  face. 

"  Son  Robert,  are  you  insane  ?  " 

The  prisoner  wiped  the  foam  from  his  lips  unconsciously,  and 
after  a  pause,  struggling  with  himself,  appeared  more  calm. 

"  Does  it  seem  so  strange  to  you,  to  find  me  here  ?  " 

"  Strange,  son  Robert  ?  Strange  ?  "  and,  ft  r  the  first  time  in 
his  life,  the  prisoner  heard  a  tremor  of  emotion  in  his  lather's 
voice.  "  You  assuredly  are  not  guilty  —  " 

"  I  'm  guilty  of  all !  And  I  might  have  been  guilty  of  more, 
could  this  hand  have  reached  you  !  "  Robert  wiped  his  bleeding 
lips  again,  and  thrust  his  forehead,  with  its  tangled  hair,  against 


400  RETRIBUTION. 


the  bars.  "  My  life  is  blasted.  I  have  no  future.  My  career 
ends  here.  And  I  have  you  to  thank!  Do  you  understand  1 
You,  sir,  YOU  !  " 

"  Son  Robert,"  articulated  the  'squire,  "  I  DO  NOT  understand  ; 
E  am  overwhelmed  !  I  could  not  believe  my  ears  when  that  1 
heard  of  your  arrest.  I  cannot  now  believe  my  senses  when  that 
I  see  and  hear  you  !  Is  it  my  son  Robert  whom  I  tee  caged  like 
an  enraged  beast  ?  " 

"  Old  man  !  "  said  Robert,  "  hear  me  !  It  is  for  the  last  time, 
so  heed  me !  Since  the  earliest  years  I  can  remember,  I  have 
had  a  burning  hatred  in  my  heart  lor  you !  .  When  I  was  a 
child,  not  a  day  passed  but  I  said,  '  Some  time  he  shall  hear  of 
this  ! '  That  time  has  come.  The  hell  that  has  been  all  my  life 
kindling  is  bursting  forth." 

"  Son  Robert !  beware  !  Pause  before  you  speak.  Remember 
whom  you  address  !  Respect  the  paternal  head  !  " 

"Remember!  —  would  I  could  forget!  Respect!  —  how  have  I 
learned  to  hate !  I  cannot  recall  a  single  kind  or  loving  word 
that  ever  you  spoke  to  me.  You  were  the  tyrant  —  always  ! 
You  ruled  with  a  rod  of  iron.  My  most  trivial  faults  were  pun- 
ished with  cruelty.  If  there  was  any  goodness  in  me,  you 
crushed  it  out ;  while  every  evil  trait  I  inherited  — from  you  — 
was  kept  alive  by  you  —  provoked  and  strengthened  by  your  des- 
potism !  Revenge  became  a  part  of  me.  Because  I  dared  not 
vent  it  against  you,  I  poured  it  upon  others.  That  passion  fired 
the  rest.  Now  you  behold  me  here  !  And  I  tell  you  I  have  you 
to  thank  !  Take  that,  my  parting  gift,  and  hug  it  to  your  breast 
when  I  am  gone  !  " 

"  Me  to  thank  !  Truly,  truly,"  —  the  'squire's  agitated  hands 
struggled  convulsively  with  his  stifling  cravat,  and  his  broken 
voice  was  pitiful  to  hear,  —  "  truly,  son  Robert,  you  are  beside 
yourself!  Who  reared  you  up,  from  infancy,  with  unswerving 
care?  \Vho  disciplined  your  youth  in  all  wholesome  exercises 
of  the  mind?  Who  kept  you  at  the  Sabbath-school  and  at 
church?  Who  put  into  your  hands  healthful  moral  treatises, 
and  gave  you  tasks  from  the  Scriptur's  to  commit  to  memory  ? 
Who  taught  you  filial  reverence,  and  respect  for  gray  hairs  f 


RETRIBUTION.  401 


0,  wiotched  young  man  !  where  are  the  talents  intrusted  to  youi 
keeping  ?  AVhere  are  the  seeds  a  pious  parent  planted  ?  " 

k>  The  talents  have  brought  me  here ;  this  is  the  harvest  of  the 
seeds !  You  did  all  that  you  boast  of,  and  so  I  say  I  thank  you ; 
for,  by  the  very  means  you  used,  you  made  me  hate  you  and  your 
lessons.  I  loathed  the  Sabbath-school,  because  driven  to  it  with 
a  rod.  1  never  came  near  a  Bible  but  I  struck  or  kicked  it, 
because  of  those  hated  tasks.  I  am  calm  now  ;  I  utter  my  solemn 
convictions,  and  you  know  I  tell  truths  !  " 

"  Indeed,"  groaned  the  'squire,  "  indeed,  I  do  not  know  !  My 
pride  was  in  you,  my  son,  0,  my  son  !  I  longed  for  the  time 
when  that  we  should  behold  you  an  ornament  and  an  honor  to  the 
respectable  name  of  Greenwich.  I  labored  faithfully  to  that  end. 
And  is  this  the  result?" 

Sobs  broke  the  old  man's  utterance.  Still  he  struggled,  as 
from  long  habit,  to  maintain  his  dignified  speech  and  deportment ; 
and  it  was  touching  to  see  the  flood  of  his  emotions  bursting 
through  the  wreck  of  his  poor,  shattered  pride.  Robert  looked 
on  luridly. 

"  There  may  be  points  "  —  the  'squire  confessed,  wiping  his 
wrinkled  brow  —  "  wherein  I  have  fallen  somewhat  short  of  the 
highest  wisdom.  But,  had  I  erred  in  all,  I  find  no  excuse  for 
you.  Still,  you  are  my  son.  You  bear  the  respectable  name  of 
Greenwich.  And,  whatever  your  faults,  how  glaring  soever  your 
ingratitude  to  my  venerable  hairs,  I  can  yet  find  it  in  my  heSrt  to 
render  you  service." 

"  You  can  render  none.  I  will  accept  none.  My  hands  have 
plunged  into  crime,  and  I  choose  to  meet  the  penalties." 

"  Crime  !  crime !  a  son  of  'Squire  Greenwich  ?  crime  !  " 

"  That  is  the  word !  Would  you  be  gratified  to  know  the 
history  ?  " 

"  I  would  know,  though  my  heart  be  cleft  in  twain !  But,  I 
beseech  you,  speak  not  in  such  bitterness  and  wrath." 

"  Fair  words,  then,  they  shall  be ;  I  '11  be  tender  with  your 

jerves,  old  man  !     And  the  story  shall  be  short,  though  it  goes 

back  to  tines  long  before  I  left  home.     My  vices  ripened  early. 

But  I  had   learned   hypocrisy  in  so   perfect  a  family  school,  that 

34* 


402  KKTIIIUUTION. 


you  know  little  of  the  wild  nights  I  wasted  ;  escaping  from  the 
house  by  stealth,  and  seizing  what  pleasure  I  could,  in  recompense 
for  your  tyranny  by  day.  When  [  came  of  age,  you  gave  mo 
the  liberty  you  could  no  longer  restrain ;  I  went  south,  and  there, 
in  the  hot-bed  of  vice,  ray  nature  nourished.  I  ended  by  run- 
ning away  with  a  slave-girl,  leaving  more  debts  and  sins  behind 
than  I  will  stop  to  count.  To  provide  myself  with  means,  I 
forged  a  note,  and  followed  her  to  Canada,  where  I  fell  in  with 
a  villanous  speculator.  He  knew  an  ingenious  rogue,  who  had 
invented  a  spurious  coin  ;  and,  as  they  proposed  to  set  up,  on  a 
small  scale,  an  opposition  to  the  legitimate  mint,  I  was  invited  to 
join  them.  I  asked  nothing  better ;  and  we  fitted  up  an  old  house 
in  the  woods,  and  established  an  apparatus.  I  have  distributed 
a  good  deal  of  the  proceeds.  In  short,  I  was  brought  here  for 
counterfeiting.  I.  might  have  escaped,  but  by  ill-luck  I  fell  in 
first  with  that  accursed  Hector,  then  with  the  sheriff.  On  my 
way  here,  I  learned  of  my  friend  Sperkley's  arrest,  in  Burlington. 
His  faithful  housekeeper,  who  pisses  for  his  wife,  will  expect  him 
home  in  vain.  Then  there  are  the  slave-catchers  ;  they  will  con- 
centrate all  their  rage  on  me.  I  set  them  on  Camille's  track  ; 
and  no  questions  were  to  be  asked ;  but  I  had  not  the  virtue  to  be 
faithful  even  to  them.  So,  you  see,  the  son  of  respectable 
'Squire  Greenwich  "  —  what  fierce  sarcasm  in  those  words  !  —  "is 
provided  for.  I  staked  everything  —  I  have^ost  —  and  this  is 
the  end  ! " 

"  God  of  mercies  ! "  groaned  the  'squire,  "  what  do  I  hear  ! 
Son  Robert,  my  only  son,  the  hope  of  my  old  age  !  —  you  a 
double  criminal  —  arrested  —  to  be  brought  bofore  a  public  court 
—  tried,  condemned  sentenced  —  0,  God!  can  all  this  be  in 
store  ?  " 

"  Not  quite  !  "  said  Robert,  with  dark  significance.  "  'T  will 
be  a  shorter  agony.  Good-by  ;  remember  what  I  have  said.  I 
have  thrown  that  burden  off.  Now  go  —  I  would  be  alone." 

"  But,  my  son,"  sobbed  the  broken-hearted  old  man,  "  while 
that  I  return  to  my  dishonored  and  desolate  home,  let  me  at  least 
carry  with  me  the  consolation  of  knowing  that  you  are  contrite 
and  repentant  —  " 


RETRIBUTION.  403 


"  Carry  with  you  my  hatred  and  my  curse  ! "  said  Robert ; 
"  it  ',s  all  I  have  for  you,  and  a  good-night  to  you  !  May  your 
Bleep  be  always  peaceful  as  it  will  be  this  night !  " 

The  keeper  reappeared ;  and  now  the  prisoner  shrank  back 
into  his  cell.  The  heart-crushed  parent,  shaking  with  the  palsy 
of  his  grief,  struggled  long  within  himself  before  he  found  voice 
again  to  speak. 

"  Son  Robert,"  —  the  keeper  was  looking  on,  and  it  was  sad  to 
see  the  nickering  ghost  of  the  poor  old  man's  dignity  rise  up 
once  more,  —  "I  shall  see  you  in  the  morning." 

"  Let  me  advise  you  to  come  early  !  "  muttered  Robert. 

The  keeper  advanced.  "  I  shall  do  all  in  niy  power  to  make 
your  son  comfortable,  'Squire  Greenwich ;  and  if  he  has  any  com- 
mands —  " 

"  What  are  these  men  in  for  ?  "  asked  Robert,  designating  the 
card-players. 

"  The  one  in  shirt-sleeves,  for  stealing  a  horse  ;  the  other,  for 
killing  one  of  his  children  in  a  drunken  fit." 

"  Is  the  thing  of  which  I  am  accused  so  much  worse  than 
theft  or  murder,  that,  while  they  have  the  liberty  of  the  jail,  it  is 
necessary  to  keep  me  caged  ?  " 

"  0,  by  no  means !  But,  when  you  were  brought  in,  it  was 
thought  advisable,  for  a  while  —  " 

"  You  see  I  am  calm  now." 

The  keeper  selected  a  particular  key  from  the  bunch,  and  cheer- 
fully unlocked  the  door  of  the  cell.  The  'squire,  meanwhile,  had 
tottered  to  the  entrance.  The  two  went  out  together.  Then 
Robert  threw  himself  upon  his  bunk,  and  lay  there,  tossing  about, 
and  tearing  his  flesh  and  hair  by  fits,  until  the  suspended  lamp 
burned  out,  and  the  card-players  groped  their  way  in  the  dark  to 
their  separate  cells. 

0,  night!  0,  agony!  0,  remorse  ! — darkness,  and  woe,  and  the 
worm  that  gnaweth  the  heart !  —  how  mysterious,  how  terrible, 
are  ye  all !  Swords  of  flame  flash  all  around  the  eden  of  the  soul, 
and  the  sinner,  seeking  to  rush  in  with  impure  feet,  is  lightning- 
stricken  with  their  fiery  tongues.  Only  through  righteousness,  in 
the  white  robe  and  celestial  armor  of  Christ,  can  you  enter  the 


404  RETRIBUTION. 


blessed  precincts  of  love  and  peace  :  and  night,  and  agony,  and 
remorse,  —  darkness,  and  woe,  and  the  worm  that  gnaweth  the 
heart,  —  God  sends  to  teach  the  LAW. 

All  night  Robert  lay  in  his  torment.  But  at  the  earliest  glim- 
mer of  dawn  he  arose,  and  sat  upon  his  bed.  There  was  now  a 
sort  of  calmness  in  his  face,  a  fearful  repose.  And  so  he  sat, 
while  the  slow,  cold  dawn  advanced,  twirling  and  twirling  his 
silken  cravat  in  his  hands.  At  length  he  got  up,  and  opened  the 
door  of  his  cell. 

Darkness  still  hovered  in  the  jail.  But  from  the  high  windows 
a  faint  grayish  light  radiated  upon  the  walls,  and  streamed  along 
the  floor.  Robert  stepped  noiselessly  across  the  hall.  He  reached 
the  table  where  the  card-players  had  sat  the  night  before,  stepped 
upon  it  with  his  knotted  cravat  in  his  hand,  listened  for  a  moment 
to  the  heavy  breathing  in  the  cells,  then  carefully  removed  the 
lantern  from  the  chain. 

What  stillness  !  what  solemnity  !  what  gloom  !  Suddenly  there 
was  a  crash.  The  table  had  fallen  ;  the  lantern  rattled  upon  the 
floor.  The  horse-stealer  started  from  his  sleep.  He  rose  up  ;  he 
gazed  listening,  affrighted,  in  his  cell.  But  did  he  hear  the 
struggles,  the  conflict  of  life  and  death,  or  see  the  dim,  ghastly 
flgure  swinging  by  the  chain  ? 


XLV. 

CLOSING   SCENES. 

STRANGE  is  this  boon  of  existence !     How  sacred  !  how  fatal ! 
how  sweet !     0,  sorrow  !  0,  love !  O,  despair !  why  have  ye  con- 


Beautiful  is  this  dear,  warm  flesh  !  The  miracle  of  the  heart- 
beat, of  the  rushing  blood,  how  wonderful !  Sensation,  how 
delicious  !  Thought,  affection,  aspiration,  the  delirium  of  joy, — 
thank  God  for  all.  Yet  beware,  0,  man  !  0,  woman !  penalty 
and  peril  hem  us  in  ;  and  we  know  not  how  terrible  a  thing  it  is 
to  profane  the  sanctity  of  the  soul. 

Sin,  tumult,  endless  toil,  a  little  laughter,  many  tears,  agony, 
longing,  and  the  baffling  search  :  such  is  man's  history.  0,  Father ! 
pity  thy  children ! 

Life  is  a  fiery  furnace,  and  none  see  God  save  those  who  have 
passed  through  the  burning.  Purification  is  born  of  the  fire ;  tho 
faithful  shall  not  perish  ;  brightness,  triumph,  heaven,  await  us  ; 
and  to  some  there  comes  great  peace.  If  there  is  anything  for 
which  one  should  thank  God,  it  is  peace.  In  that  still  lake  sleep 
all  life's  turbulent  streams.  Its  bosom  is  the  mirror  of  God  ;  lo, 
heaven  lies  deep  within  !  all  around,  a  light,  ineffably  soft  and 
glorious,  radiates  and  swims ;  and  a  hush,  as  of  Sabbath  stillness, 
of  joy,  of  thanks,  and  of  worship,  fijls  all  the  summer  air. 

Such  a  hush  '/ervaded  Mr.  Jack  wood's  house.  There  were 
words — but  how  gently  spoken  !  there  was  laughter  —  but  how  sub- 
dued and  mellow  !  there  were  tears  —  but  how  bright  and  happy  ! 

"  This  'ere  's  a  day  wuth  livin'  to  see  !  "  observed  the  farmer. 
He  sat  upon  a  keg  in  the  corner,  whittling  an  ox-bow ;  but,  some- 
how, he  could  not  work  ;  his  eyes  now  and  then  grew  misty,  and 


406  CLOSING    SCENES. 


he  would  pause,  holding  his  hands  abstractedly,  his  countenance 
beaming  with  the  light  of  a  deep,  earnest  joy.  "  Don't  seem  to 
me  it 's  right  to  work;  it's  kind  o'  like  Sunday." 

"  Don't  le's  !  "  said  Bim,  who  had  been  set  to  scour  the  table- 
knives,  but  who  took  a  great  deal  more  interest  in  his  mother's 
baking.  "  I  got  two  on  'em  bright,  —  this  one  's  for  Charlotte, 
any  how  !  Let  the  rest  go,  —  I  would  !  " 

"  Come,  come  !  "  his  mother  spoke  up,  cheeringly,  "  work  away, 
or  you  won't  have  enough  to  set  the  table  with.  The  pies  '11  take 
care  o'  themselves." 

"  Make  'em  good,  any  way ! "  exclaimed  Bim.  "  Charlotte  likes 
lots  o'  sugar  in  'em." 

"  Bim  speaks  two  words  for  himself,"  chimed  Phoabe's  musical 
voice.  "  Here  's  a  little  crust  left,  —  what  shall  I  do  with  it  ?  " 

"  Bake  Rove  a  turnover,"  cried  Bim,  "  and  1  '11  eat  it  foi 
him  !  " 

"  Shall  I,  mother  ?  " 

"  Law,  yes ;  do  gratify  the  boy !  But  you  must  do  them 
knives  ! " 

"  An't  I  ?  "  said  Bim.  He  was  holding  the  dog's  lips  apart 
with  his  fingers,  for  the  purpose  of  inserting  brick-dust,  from  the 
scouring-board.  "  Rove's  teeth  are  gittin'  rusty,  and  I  want  'em 
to  look  white  for  comp'ny." 

The  baking  progressed  finely.  The  big  oven  had  been  heated 
for  the  occasion.  Extraordinary  cakes,  extravagant  pies,  emulous, 
puffy  biscuits,  —  not  to  speak  of  Rover's  aristocratic  turnover,  — 
rested  snugly  in  the  corners,  and  bubbled,  smoked,  and  swelled, 
in  the  genial  heat.  They  seemed  to  know,  as  well  as  anybody, 
that  they  were  no  common  cooking  ;  and  to  feel  a  pride  in  coming 
out  with  plump,  handsome,  brown  faces,  with  dimples,  where 
Phoebe's  fork  had  pricked,  fit  to  appear  before  the  choice  com- 
pany in  which  they  were  to  have  the  honor  of  b  >ing  eaten. 

"  0,  dear  !  "  exclaimed  Phoebe,  "  I  don't  know  what  to  do  !  I 
want  to  laugh  and  cry  !  I  wish  it  was  dinner-time  ;  then  I  could 
have  an  excuse  to  go  to  their  room,  and  call  them." 

"  An't  there  somebody  to  the  front  door .?  "  said  Mr.  Jackwood, 
''  Go  and  see,  Bim'lech." 


CLOSING    SCENES.  407 


Bim  went  skipping  along  the  floor,  followed  by  Rover,  barking 
Mr.  Rukely  entered.  There  were  warm  greetings  between  him 
and  the  farmer,  —  questions,  and  earnest  congratulations. 

"  Why,  father !  "  said  Mrs.  Jackwood,  with  the  kindliest  of 
smiles,  and  with  mist  in  her  eyes  the  while,  "  you  hardly  know 
what  you  're  about,  I  do  declare  !  " 

In  his  excitement,  he  had  offered  Mr.  Rukely  the  keg  to  sit 
down  upon.  Mr.  Rukely  remained  standing. 

•'  Set  the  big  chair,  Phoebe  !  "  said  the  farmer. 

Mr.  Rukely  could  not  stop.     He  had  called  to  see  Hector. 

"  I  do'uo'  nobody  they  '11  be  gladder  to  see  !  "  cried  Mr.  Jack- 
wood.  '•  The  way  they  spoke  o'  you  'n'  your  wife,  —  what  you  'd 
done  for  'em,  —  wal,  't  an't  of 'n  anything  comes  over  me  as  that 
did!  Go  to  the  spare  room,  Phoebe, —  don't  be  noisy,  but  step 
light,  an'  jest  rap  kind  o'  gentle  on  the  door."  • 

Phoebe  could  have  asked  no  happier  commission.  To  be  near 
Camille,  to  hear  the  tones  of  Hector's  voice,  to  look  upon  their 
faces  for  a  moment,  was  delight  enough  for  her. 

"  Yes,  sir  !  "  cried  Mr.  Jackwood,  "  't  was  great !  You  should 
ben  there  to  see !  You  never  'd  git  over  it,  the  longest  day  o' 
your  life,  Mr.  Rukely !  I  hope  I  an't  proud ;  but  I  can't  help 
thinkin'  't  was  my  sleigh  't  they  got  right  into,  an'  't  I  drove  'em 
si  way  !  I  hope  I  an't  revengeful,  nuther  ;  but  I  did  feel  a  grudge 

agin  them  kidnabbers,  an'  I Wal,  't  was  good  enough  for 

'em  !     I  can't  help  sayin'  so  much,  any  way." 

"  They  was  goin'  to  have  our  farm  !  "  observed  Bim.  dis- 
dainfully. 

"  I  guess  they  '11  let  us  alone,"  said  his  father,  genially.  "  They 
sneaked  out  o'  town  las'  night,  like  a  couple  o'  sheep-stealers.  Et 
'pears  they  tallygrafted  that  Cha'lotte  was  drownded  ;  an'  that's 
what  made  her  owner  —  as  he  called  himself — so  ready  to  sell 
out.  A  smart  young  lawyer  done  the  business  for  Hector,  an'  got 
the  man  to  sign  off  for  little  or  nothin',  I  guess  ;  though  I  could  n't 
find  out  jest  how  much.  That 's  a  terrible  hard  story  they  tell 
'bout  Enos  Crumlett." 

"  I  'm  afraid  it 's  true,"  replied  the  minister.  "  Matilda  is  quite 
wild  about  it " 


408  CLOSING   SCENES. 


"  He  'd  better  go  to  Californy,  fust  thing ! "  exclaimed  Mi 
Jackwood.  "  He  never  '11  be  nothin'  'round  here  ;  everybody  '1 
despise  him.  As  for  that  Robert  Greenwich  —  " 

"  You  have  not  heard  —  "  said  Mr.  liukely,  a  shadow  passing 
over  his  face. 

"  I  heerd  he  was  took  up  for  counterfeitin',  —  an'  I  wan't  much 
surprised,  nuther." 

Mr.  Rukely  reported,  in  addition,  a  startling  piece  of  intelli- 
gence that  had  spread  through  the  town  that  morning.  Astonish- 
ment and  solemnity  fell  upon  the  listeners. 

"  His  poor  father  'n'  mother  !  "  uttered  Mrs.  Jackwood.  "  Don't 
mention  it  to  Phoebe,  —  she  's  too  happy  to-day." 

"  What  is  suicide  ?  "  cried  Bim. 

"  Hush  !  —  't  an't  nothin'  you  need  to  know  'bout !  "  said  his 
father 

Phoebe  reappeared,  radiant.  "  He  's  coming  right  out,  —  and 
I  'm  going  back  to  stay  with  Charlotte  !  " 

A  minute  later,  the  door  again  opened.  A  thrill  ran  through 
Mr.  Rukely's  ordinarily  sluggish  veins.  The  countenance  that 
shone  upon  him  was  in  itself  a  life-history,  a  revelation.  How 
changed  since  he  last  saw  it !  Older,  yet  younger,  and  brighter  ; 
sadder,  yet  immeasurably  more  happy  ;  serene,  majestic,  yet  never 
so  soft  and  tender;  deeply  thoughtful,  deeply  humble,  yet  smiling 
with  the  sweet,  subdued  effulgence  of  love  and  peace.  Such  was 
Hector  on  that  memorable  morning.  He  grasped  Mr.  liukely  s 
hand,  and  they  conversed  a  few  moments  in  presence  of  the  fam- 
ily ;  then  Hector  led  the  way  to  Camille's  chamber, 

The  young  wife  was  reclining  by  a  cheerful  wood  fire,  on  the 
pillows  of  an  easy-chair.  With  eyes  swimming  in  blissful  light, 
she  looked  up  ;  a  smile  of  wondrous  beauty  and  sweetness  wel- 
comed her  friend,  and  the  hand  she  gave  him  seemed  all  alive  with 
the  tremulous  emotions  of  her  heart. 

Was  Mr.  Rukely  surprised  to  see  her  blooming  with  promise 
of  fair  health?  Ah,  then,  he  did  not  know  what  magic  lies  in 
the  sunshine  of  Love's  face,  —  what  subtle  streams  of  life  pour 
down  into  the  very  springs  of  our  being  from  the  sympathy  and 
magnetic  touch  of  those  we  hold  most  dear. 


CLOSING   SCENES.  409 


Mr.  Rukely  had  been  sent  for,  that  morning,  by  Mrs.  D  mb  ary. 
He  had  found  her  greatly  changed.  The  excitement  that  had 
sustained  her  through  a  long  and  terrible  trial,  subsiding,  had  left 
her  extremely  low.  Charlotte  was  saved,  Hector  was  happy ;  she 
felt  that  she  had  nothing  more  to  live  for,  and  peaceful,  not 
reluctant,  she  calmly  awaited  the  end.  After  what  had  passed, 
knowing  Hector's  spirit,  knowing  Charlotte's  wrongs  and  sufferings, 
she  could  not  hope  that  they  would  return  to  the  house  from  which 
a  father's  wrath  had  exiled  them.  But  she  had  sent  Mr.  Rukely 
to  them,  with  her  love  and  blessing. 

Also,  before  setting  out,  the  young  minister  had  conversed  with 
Mr.  Dunbury.  He  spoke  of  that  interview  ;  but,  at  mention  of 
his  father,  Hector  shook  his  head,  with  a  look  of  infinite  sadness. 

"  I  know  no  father  !  "  he  said. 

"  I  have  obtained  his  consent,"  Mr.  Rukely  went  on,  "  for  you 
to  return  home." 

"  Home  ?  "  came  the  low  echo  from  Hector's  heart,  and  a  heav- 
ing emotion  struggled  in  his  face,  as  he  looked  upon  Camille ;  — 
'«  where  the  spirit  is  at  rest,  is  home  ;  hearts'  love  is  home  ;  I  AM 

AT   HOME  !  " 

"  What  reply  shall  I  make  to  Mr.  Dunbury  ?  " 

"  Take  to  him  these  words  !  " 

"  And  your  mother  ?  " 

"  0,  my  mother  !  Tell  her  my  soul  loves  her  ;  and  souls  that 
love,  though  divided  on  earth,  reunite  in  heaven  !  " 

Camille  wept.  She  joined  in  Hector's  message  to  the  invalid  ; 
and,  shortly  after,  Mr.  Rukely  took  his  leave. 

It  had  been  a  comfort  to  learn  that  Mrs.  Longman  —  Camille's 
dear  Canadian  friend,  who  had  come  to  Edward's  funeral  —  would 
remain  with  her  relatives.  No  kinder  hand,  no  warmer  heart,  than 
hers,  could  have  been  sent  to  administer  to  the  failing  invalid. 
Btill  Hector  felt  it  as  a  deep  wrong,  Camille  as  a  sad  privation, 
that  they,  who  owed  her  so  much  love  and  gratitude,  they,  who 
were  dearer  to  her  than  all  the  world,  should  be  so  near,  and  yet 
attend  not  at  the  pillow  of  the  dying  woman. 

Three  days  passed,  —  days  of  hitherto  inconceivable  happiness, 
marred  by  but  one  shade  of  sorrow.  They  still  remained  the 
35 


410  CLOSING   SCENES. 


welcome  occupants  of  the  spare  room  in  Mr.  Jackwood's  iiouse, 
As  Camille's  strength  increased,  Hector  was  beginning  to  think 
of  some  quiet  little  home  in  the  village,  —  but  something  said, 
—  "  Wait !  "  On  the  afternoon  of  the  fourth  day,  Corny  was 
announced. 

"  I  got  a  letter  for  ye,  somewheres,"  said  that  young  gentle- 
man, making  thorough  investigations  in  his  pockets.  "  Hello  !  — 
what 's  this  ?  I  'd  like  to  know  !  "  A  worn  and  soiled  envelopo 
was  brought  to  light.  "  I  did  n't  know  I  had  that !  0,  I  re- 
member !  —  it 's  what  they  gi'  me  in  the  village,  one  day,  for  Mis' 
Duu'b'ry,  —  an'  I  don't  b'leve  I  ever  thought  on 't  till  this 
minute !  " 

Hector  tore  the  envelope,  took  out  a  slip  of  paper,  and  unfolded 
it,  —  't  was  his  own  telegraphic  despatch  from  Mobile  !  He  bit 
his  lips,  but,  without  a  word,  passed  it  to  Camille.  Meanwhile, 
Corny  had  produced  another  letter. 

"  That  looks  more  like  !  The  ol'  man  toP  me  to  bring  it  over. 
He  's  ben  ra'al  dumpy,  lately  ;  an'  it 's  about  the  fust  time  he  's 
spoke  for  five  or  six  days.  He  don't  growl  to  me  no  more,  as  he 
used  to  ;  I  guess  it 's  'cause  he  's  had  some  talks  with  Mis'  Dun- 
b'ry ;  for  when  he  comes  out  o'  her  room,  his  eyes  look  kinder 
red  an'  watery,  's  if  he  'd  like  to  cry,  if  he  wan't  a  man.  They 
don't  spec'  she  '11  live." 

"  Camille  !  "  said  Hector,  with  solemn  and  anxious  looks,  "  the 
hour  has  come  !  We  must  go  to  our  mother  !  " 

No  time  was  to  be  lost.  A  few  minutes  sufficed  for  all  prepa- 
ration. Corny  had  come  for  them  in  the  cutter ;  it  was  waiting 
at  the  door.  The  family  made  haste  to  warm  blankets,  and  a 
foot-stove  was  filled,  to  place  at  Camille's  feet  Their  thoughtful 
kindness  was  too  much  for  the  young  wife.  She  pressed  Mr. 
Jackwood's  hand  to  her  lips,  blessing  him  and  his,  from  the  burst- 
ing fulness  of  her  heart. 

"  If  anybody  should  be  thankful,  it 's  me !  "  declared  the  farmer, 
brushing  the  tears  from  his  honest  cheeks.  "  Your  comin'  into 
my  house,  fust  and  last,  has  ben  a  blessin'  to  me  an'  to  all ;  I 
3an'  be  thankful  enough  for 't !  " 


CLOSING    SCENES.  411 


Hector  wrung  the  farmer's  hand.  Words  seemed  too  feeble  to 
express  what  swelled  and  burned  within  his  breast.  • 

"  Could  you  know  how  great  my  happiness  in  my  wife,  then  you 
might  know  something  of  my  gratitude  to  you,  her  preserver  !  " 

He  placed  Camille  in  the  sleigh.  Mrs.  Jackwood  wrapped  tho 
blankets  around  her,  the  farmer  adjusted  the  foot-stove  to  her  feet 
Phoebe  arranged  her  veil,  Bim  stood  holding  the  horse.  A  moment 
after,  they  were  gone ;  and  loving  faces,  tearful  eyes,  watched 
them  as  they  rode  out  of  sight. 

It  was  the  close  of  a  very  fair,  calm  winter's  day.  The  forests 
on  the  mountain  tops  burned  faintly  in  the  sunset  glow  ;  and  the 
sky  all  above  was  arched  with  ribs  and  bars  of  fire.  But  the  last 
tinge  was  fading  from  the  clouds,  and  the  forests  grew  drear  and 
dark,  as  Hector  and  Camille  approached  Mr.  Dunbury's  house. 

Mrs.  Longman  received  them  at  the  porch.  As  she  hold  Camille 
in  her  arms,  Hector,  advancing  into  the  hall,  saw  the  kitchen  door 
open  beyond,  and  his  father  pacing  to  and  fro,  with  trouble  written 
in  deep  lines  upon  his  face.  The  young  man  turned  aside,  pausing 
a  moment  at  the  door  of  his  mother's  room,  then  gently  lifted  the 
latch. 

The  subdued  light  of  departing  day  stole  into  the  chamber.  A 
calm  and  holy  atmosphere  breathed  around.  He  entered  softly, 
and  moved  with  silent  steps  to  the  bedside ;  then,  stooping  ten- 
derly and  reverently,  imprinted  a  kiss  upon  his  mother's  brow. 

She  looked  up.  "  My  dear  boy  !  "  Tears  rained  from  Hector's 
eyes.  He  could  not  speak.  "  And  Charlotte  —  "  murmured  the 
invalid. 

"  She  is  here  !  "  He  reached  forth  his  hand.  Camille  advanced. 
He  led  her  to  the  bedside ;  she  bent  down  amid  the  hush ;  her 
kisses  and  tears  fell  warm  upon  the  dying  woman's  hand. 

"  My  child  !  "  —  and  feebly  the  invalid  raised  both  her  arms  to 
place  about  her  form,  —  "  are  you  happy  ?  " 

"  0,  blest !  "  sobbed  Charlotte,  upon  her  bosom. 

Another  pause  ;  the  love  and  peace  of  the  invalid's  countenance 
t  Tightening  and  deepening.  '{  And  Hector  ?" 

"  Twice  blest !  "  breathed  Hector.      "  But,  to  see  my  mother 


412  CLOSING   SCENES. 


here,  so  feeble,  and  suffering  so  — "  His  voice  was  choked 
Camille  rose  up  gently ;  they  bowed  together  by  the  bed. 

"  My  children,"  said  the  invalid,  as  she  looked  upon  them, 
"  this  is  all  I  have  asked  !  I  do  not  suffer  now.  My  soul  il 
full  of  peace.  I  waited  but  for  this  hour,  to  fall  sweetly  into 
the  amis  of  Heaven,  and  be  forever  at  rest.  Raise  my  head  a 
little." 

With  a  tender  touch,  Hector  lifted  her  to  an  easier  position, 
adjusting  the  pillows  beneath  her  head.  "  Always  so  kind,  my 
boy !  Give  me  a  little  water."  Camille  held  the  glass  to  her 
lips,  while  she  drank.  "  The  same  gentleness  and  love,  dear  one  ! 
Yes,  Hector,  I  have  waited  but  for  this.  Your  father  knows  I 
have  not  long  to  stay.  And,  as  he  has  seen  me,  for  these  faw 
days  past,  sinking  so  rapidly,  I  have  felt  all  the  young  love  of  his 
early  years  come  back  again,  and  his  heart  has  been  Ktruugely 
softened !  He  loves  you,  Hector !  He  feels  that  he  has  been 
unjust  to  you,  —  more  than  unjust  to  this  dear  one  !  "  A  choking 
sensation  broke  her  utterance ;  but  she  added,  presently,  "  Will 
you  not  forgive  him  ?  " 

"  0,  MOTHER  !  " 

There  was  a  footfall  upou  the  floor.  One  entered,  walking 
with  careful  steps ;  crushed  in  spirit,  his  form  bowed  as  by  a 
burden,  his  chin  sunken  sorrowfully  upon  his  breast.  The  little 
group  opened.  He  drew  near  the  bedside,  reaching  out  his  trem- 
bling hands.  A  painful  silence,  then  a  quivering  voice  — • 
"  Hector ! " 

The  deep  contrition  of  the  look  and  tone  ran  like  melting  fire 
into  Hector's  soul. 

"  FATHER  ! "  That  one  word  expressed  all.  Their  hands 
clasped.  Forgiveness  flowed  from  heart  to  heart.  Then  the 
father,  taking  courage,  turned,  with  anguish  in  his  looks,  and 
extended  a  shaking  hand  to  Camille. 

'  My  daughter  !  " 

His  long  remorse,  his  crushed  and  penitent  pride,  and  the  new- 
born love  of  his  soul  gushing  up  through  all,  found  utterance  in 
those  half-stifled  words.  Filled  with  a  wild  grief,  and  yet  wildcf 
joy  into  •mixed,  Camille  faltered,  bowed  her  weeping  face,  and 


CLOSING   SCENES.  413 


sank  down  at  his  feet.  On  the  instant,  as  by  quick  sympathy, 
Hector  was  kneeling  by  her  side ;  one  arm  about  her  form,  and" 
cue  hand  clasped  in  hers.  The  father  extended  his  quivering 
palms  above  them,  while  heavy  drops  struggled  down  his  unac- 
customed cheeks. 

"  God  bless  you,  —  God  bless  you  —  my  —  children  !  " 
"  Peace ! "  whispered  the  dying  woman,  a  smile  of  heavenly 
sweetness  lighting  all  her  face. 


Peace  !  And  with  that  sacred  word,  the  writer's  task  should 
end.  Have  we,  then,  gone  through  all  these  scenes  of  mirth,  and 
passion,  and  woe,  to  reach  a  tearful  close  ?  Blame  not  the  writer. 
It  was  scarce  his  choice.  The  characters  whose  fortunes  he  has 
depicted  have  not  been  altogether  fictitious  ;  they  have  been  real 
existences  to  him,  at  least ;  he  has  laughed  with  them,  wept  with 
them,  and  he  would  not  part  from  them  without  tears.  The  nar- 
rative has  been  like  a  stream,  holding  its  own  free  course ;  and 
who  could  have  known,  when  first  we  embarked  in  its  limpid  ripples 
and  careless  flow,  how  the  waters  were  to  accumulate,  and  darken, 
and  sweep  us  on  ?  There  have  been  bubbles  plenty,  eddies  and 
shallow  falls,  torrents  and  floods  ;  and  now  let  all  sink  to  rest  in 
that  still  lake  —  described  a  little  while  ago  —  named  Peace. 

"  But  what  became  of  Bim  ?  Was  everybody  happy  at  last  ? 
You  have  not  told  us  !  And  did  Phoebe  get  married  ?  " 

Be  patient,  reader,  and  your  questions  shall  be  answered. 
Phoebe  got  married,  of  course.  And  she  married  a  farmer,  after 
all.  If  ever  you  go  to  Huntersford,  inquire  for  Mrs.  Higgins, — 
Phxebe  married  a  Higgins,  —  and  you  shall  find  her  as  bright  and 
happy  a  young  wife  as  you  will  see  the  next  twelvemonth.  Bim 
often  visits  her,  and  brings  Rover,  —  now  a  sedate  and  elderly 
dog,  —  to  amuse  the  baby.  The  baby's  name  is  Camille.  There 
was  a  certain  old  lady  who  designed  to  have  the  child  named 
Betsy  Rigglesty  ;  and  who,  on  paying  a  visit  to  the  young 
mother,  and  learning  that  her  wishes  had  been  disregarded,  waa 
BO  much  offended,  that,  after  a  brief  stay  of  six  weeks  (during 
which  time  she  had  a  great  deal  to  do  with  a  dismal  old  cotton 
handkerchief,  on  which  could  be  faintly  traced  a  washed-out  print, 
35*. 


414  CLOSING   SCENES. 


commemorating  the  praiseworthy  conduct  of  a  celebrated  Samar- 
itan), she  cut  short  her  visit,  and  went  back  to  Sawney  Hook, 
resolved  never  again  to  quit  that  delightful  region.  Phoebe  bears 
her  absence  with  cheerful  resignation,  and  still  persists  in  calling 
the  child  Camille. 

Bim  is  growing  up  tall  and  manly,  and  his  parents  are  as 
genial  and  happy  an  old  couple  as  ever  enjoyed  the  blessings 
of  an  approving  conscience,  and  the  fruits  of  a  life  of  industry, 
'in  their  latter  days.  Bim  is  beginning  to  go  and  see  the  girls , 
and  he  wishes  Etty  Greenwich  was  n't  quite  so  romantic  in 
her  notions.  Etty  says  she  shall  never  be  married.  She  devotes 
herself  to  poetry,  and  to  the  care  of  her  white-haired  father,  who 
has  grown  quite  infirm  of  late  years.  Bim  does  not  call  at  the 
house  so  often  as  he  would  like  to ;  for  the  sight  of  the  old  man's 
quivering  lips  and  broken  smiles  of  affection,  when  Etty  smooths 
his  cravat  or  combs  his  hair,  always  makes  the  young  gentleman 
cry,  and  that  he  thinks  is  unmanly. 

Of  the  Rukelys  there  is  not  much  to  be  said.  Their  outward 
life  is  very  even,  almost  monotonous ;  but  inward  trial  has  left  its 
traces  in  Bertha's  pale  face.  Matilda  Fosdick  lived  in  the  family 
a  year ;  when,  taking  pity  on  poor  Enos,  whom  she  had  dismissed 
from  the  list  of  her  suitors,  on  account  of  a  certain  transaction 
which  had  earned  him  the  name  of  Judas  Crumlett,  she  finally 
consented  to  fill  the  place  his  venerable  parent  was  expected  soon 
to  leave  vacant,  and  removed  with  him  to  the  West,  after  the  re- 
mains of  that  lamented  lady  had  been  consigned  to  the  tomb. 

In  conclusion,  shall  we  draw  a  picture  of  Hector  and  Camille 
entering  upon  their  new  life  of  labor  and  love,  with  the  world's 
prejudice  and  frowns  all  unknown  to  their  serene  eyes  ?  Of  the 
broken  father,  bowed  by  his  burden  of  sadness,  yet  redeemed  by 
the  memory  of  his  sainted  wife,  and  ripening  into  quiet  and  tender 
old  age  in  the  light  of  their  affection  ?  Of  their  first-born,  won- 
drous boy,  offspring  of  love  and  beauty,  thrilling  their  fond  hearts 
with  his  sweet  prattle  and  melodious  laughter  ?  0,  wedlock !  0, 
holy  love  !  let  fall  the  veil,  and  hide  the  painful  glory  of  thy  face, 
in  mercy  to  the  longing  souls  and  moaning  hearts  that  have  sought 
thy  home  and  rest,  and  pound  it  not ! 


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